


Three Different Grips For Sexy Legs

by petting_a_bumblebee



Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Marvel, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: (with a sting), Almost Nineteen Peter Stark, Asexuality Spectrum, Clint's Usual Idiocy, Comic Book Violence, Domestic Avengers, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, Humor, Identity Porn, Identity Reveal, Idiots in Love, Lack of Communication, M/M, Meeting the Parents, Misunderstandings, Mutual Pining, Nerd Peter Parker, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Peter Parker is Tony Stark's Biological Child, Propose To Him Already, Rape Recovery, Rare Pairings, Relationship Negotiation, Romantic Comedy, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, Superfamily, Superhusbands (in making), Surprise Baby, The Avengers Are Good Bros, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vigilantism, Wade Has Difficulties To Remember Things, Worst Kept Secret Affair Ever, Yeah These Guys:, good meaning friends (who say hurtful things)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:47:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 61,430
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25614553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/petting_a_bumblebee/pseuds/petting_a_bumblebee
Summary: Peter Stark has seen better days. Not only would his father Tony hit the roof if he knew his son is Spider-Man, but Peter dating Deadpool would certainly be too much for his poor old heart. But Tony himself is having an affair too and with nobody else than his best friend and team leader Steve Rogers.Unfortunately Steve has already lots on his plate. Suspected falsely of unspeakable crimes he is forced to go through a psychic interrogation, which leaves the fair captain out of commission for days. While Peter plays muffin baking amour for those two hapless idiots, the SHIELD is setting up a trap to catch the real perpetrator and the Avengers are needed as a witness protection.For some reason this doesn’t sit right with a local vigilante, Daredevil, who is keeping our heroes busy by trying to find a way to beat a snot out of their charge. Not that Peter has much against that particular idea. The guy they are supposed to protect happens to be his old sparring partner, Herman Schultz aka Shocker. The only costumed criminal on the block who knows Spidey’s secret identity.(There will be a superhero wedding too. With a traditional big fight.)Multiple POVs.
Relationships: Matt Murdock/Herman Schultz, Peter Parker/Wade Wilson, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 33
Kudos: 74





	1. Peter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter decides to give himself a gift for his nineteenth birthday. His usual relationship issues are made deeper by the fact his dad or the Avengers don’t know he is Spider-Man.

It was his favorite roof. Not because it had a panoramic view over the city, it really didn’t. The place wasn’t neat either. The pigeons, which were fed by an odd woman from the fourth floor, kept making things slippery. Maybe he was a little smudgy by his nature. Most spiders ate little smudgy things. They got webs or poison. Peter was the webby type. His was artificial, though, but never mind. He had made his own nest, waiting for his fly to be lured in. He had blankets, milkshakes in a cooler, and a pizza bag full of chimichangas.

Call him romantic, but it was still the best roof in the city, not because of the view, gardens, or swimming pools which he had seen on the skyscraper rooftops. It was the best because it was the roof where he was going to bang his buddy Deadpool the very first time.

Let’s go backward a bit. Banging Deadpool was the easy part of the equation. The guy had been smitten by his spidery charms from the beginning of his superhero career, driving the Avengers crazy by inviting himself to their missions.

The friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. His superhero alter ago. A very popular fellow. Peter Stark, not so much.

He could face it. Let’s face it. Nobody was interested in a nerdy and awkward youngster like him. He didn’t have any of that natural charisma Harry Osborn had possessed nor was he blessed with supermodel looks like his late girlfriend Gwen Stacy. He was ordinary. Until he wasn’t, of course. Then it all started to go downhill anyway.

When you were the only son of a wealthy billionaire genius flash playboy you were a natural target of school bullying, right? Wrong! His dad paid Peter through the schools which were full of other rich little shits like him with eccentric and embarrassing parents, so he fit right in. His dad was Tony Stark, and nobody did eccentric and embarrassing better than him and Peter had those same genes. But they didn’t know that before Peter was five years old and his parents died in the car accident. Then it all came to open. His ma and Tony had been having an affair. Or maybe an affair was too flashy a word, a drunken tryst in the company’s New Year party was more like it. But sometimes Peter imagined. How his mother had been in a mission by some secret spy organization, and she had to seduce Mr. Stark who was suspected of some heinous crime. He was proven innocent later of course.

Yeah, really. But give him some slack, he had been ten years old that time. Or maybe thirteen. He had been in his rebellious period and hated the way his mother had played her husband and also Tony, when you thought about it. Or maybe he had just been scared and angry toward himself after he had started to forget his dead parents’ faces, the man he had called papa the first five years of his life, and his mother, her mousy hair and nervous smile he could see in the bathroom mirror. He had inherited something else too, that way to keep his secrets. That cowardly way to keep to himself things he knew would lead him into trouble. Like some certain superpowers and web fluid he had used Stark labs to make.

That’s right, his dad or the Avengers didn’t know he was Spider-Man. Like nobody had first realized Iron Man was not only a company’s bodyguard, but Tony Stark himself. So he had a precedent he could use if his dad found him out. _After_ his dad found out. As he had already seen, everything came out finally, if not sooner then later, maybe after one’s death. There had been a will, which revealed the whole Mary and Tony affair, and there he was, sent like a human-shaped package to his biological father’s doorstep.

As said, he had been five years old, but he remembered the situation lively. Tony lived in his mansion that time, it had been some three PM and Tony had still been in bed. Peter could see glimpses of naked people butts which made him giggle like a little kid he was, but then Jarvis, Tony’s butler, had shepherded him and his guardian to the kitchen. Tony came there later after he had showered and put some clothes on. It had been only a dressing gown, black and shiny and with a picture of golden and red dragon on its back. Peter had wanted to touch the fabric because it reminded him of his ma’s pretty evening dresses. The thought made him sad and he started crying while Tony sat there besides him on a kitchen stool, drank his fifth cup of coffee, confused by his tears or the situation overall. Tony was first convinced Peter had to be a practical joke his old college pal Rhodey had orchestrated. They had talked enough times about the possibility of that exact situation. What were the odds when Tony was known to play with a different partner every other week? The chance that one of his female companions could produce him an offspring was a good one.

It was a learning curve. From thirtysomething teenager to a parental figure in mere seconds, anybody would have freaked out, and nobody freaked out better than Tony Stark. When the idea about Peter crystallized in his mind, he fainted. After waking up and seeing Peter and realizing the boy hadn’t been just a bad dream or an alcohol induced hallucination, he started screaming.

“Son… I have a son! Fucking hell… Jarvis! Help!”

Peter’s granddad Howard hadn’t been good at parenting. Scratch that, he hadn’t been worth mentioning in that department, a pet of the scandal-thirsty public of his time, a drunkard, a playboy, an arms dealer. Yeah, apples and trees. But Tony had been stone cold sober for eleven years now, and here his son was, still keeping secrets like his mother and growing up as an eccentric and horny douchebag like his father. What was he supposed to do? Have a real boyfriend or girlfriend instead of a hunky mercenary who had problems with his personal hygiene? That would have been vanilla. And Stark men were never boring. Right?

No, it had been something indeed but boring wasn’t the first thing what came to mind. His track record of relationships wasn’t a good one. Harry, his first boyfriend, went insane. Then his girlfriend Gwen died, when said Harry’s father threw her down from the Brooklyn bridge. He still heard in his dreams the sick crunch her neck had made when his web stopped her fall too abruptly.

Two years in therapy. After that barrel of fun Peter was able to make some abatement to his solemn vow he would never danger anybody again by having a relationship with them. He was Stark, after all, and a craving for human contact was very strong. Maybe it would work out, if he dated just other supers? They at least would be able to defend themselves against his enemies.

Johnny Storm was capable of defending himself alright, but as a person he proved to be as flighty as his flames. Peter could be a horny bastard, but he was not a cheater, not after he had made a relationship deal. He was a scientist though. The scientists learned from their mistakes and made new ones, and after Black Cat had used him as her personal litter box, it was time to whistle the game over.

No more. No relationships. Just this. Like his dad does it. One-night stands and fuck-buddies. That was good. Safe.

Safe? That was a word you seldom connected with Deadpool. But hear him out. This was a perfect plan. First of all, everybody in the Avengers hated Wade’s guts. How would that work in his advantage? Easily. There would be no relationship pressure. Tony wouldn’t give him that eerie smile which was his fatherly face and ask nosy question about his weekend sleepovers. Aunt Natasha wouldn’t comment how cute Peter and his date were together, Aunt Janet wouldn’t fuss with his clothes, and Uncle Clint wouldn’t shot those amour arrows of his (perfumed confetti which made his nose inch) every time the archer was able to surprise Peter.

But about the safety. What Peter meant was the safety of his mind, because he didn’t want to use another two years crying and raving on his therapist’s couch. He didn’t need another ghost into his head besides his poor Gwen. With Deadpool that would be impossible, really. The guy was immortal, and Peter didn’t mean immortal like Uncle Thor, who was long-lived but could die if he got hurt badly enough. No, Deadpool was indestructible. Or maybe not literally, but anything the world did to his body, his healing factor could overdo. During these three years Peter had known the mercenary, he had seen him shot, sliced by ninjas, getting blown out, eaten by sharks (in Mojave desert of all places!) so really, it was an endless list. Just two weeks back Deadpool was smashed into a bloody goo after leaping from the eightieth floor of Stark Tower (or Iron Man had thrown him down, that remained unclear). A broken neck? Peter could broke Wade’s neck every other Tuesday and the guy would only leer back at him and make comments about his cute butt.

The bad boy charisma was a big plus. Knowing his dad didn’t just hate the guy, but was utterly disgusted because of his very existence, made his gut clench with rebellious excitement. He was going to be nineteen in two days and even if he had graduated from MIT as seventeen like his father, even if he was already a popular superhero and an inventor in his own right, he was still a teenager. It felt good not to be always the dutiful son embarrassed by his eccentric father, why not the other way around sometimes?

“What’s up, baby boy?”

There it was again. Those delicious willies going along his spine as he heard Wade’s gravelly voice. Tony Stark kept telling Spider-Man to be careful not to engage with Wade in the battle, because Deadpool, _ta-ta-taa_ , was an insane, macabre, unpredictable bastard, who would plug all the eight legs from itchy-bitchy spiders or riddle them with bullet holes if they got in the way of the mercenary and his reward of the week.

Really, dad!

It was sometimes inconvenient that his spider-sense didn’t notice Wade’s presence, but it was also an insurance. It meant Wade was safe. For him at least he was.

Peter had planned to wine and dine the man first, but then he thought what the heck.

“Hello Wade”, he said and launched a stream of his web. It hit Wade square into his chest and because Wade was Wade and Peter was his Spidey the mercenary didn’t do a thing to defend himself, but let Peter yank him through the air. Spider-Man could use a pick-up truck as a petanque ball, so he didn’t reel back when some 210 lb of muscular goofiness thudded into his open arms.

Usually there was some kind of foreplay. Peter had thought about that one too but… Yeah, they were both adult males, not high school girls waiting for their true love’s first kiss, and this was supposed to be a fast and sexy secret tryst anyway.

He plastered Wade on the wall of the elevator machine room and then, minding drones and their cameras, he made a spacious web cocoon around them. A real spider’s nest.

“Oh Baby Boy”, Wade let out a contend sight. “This was why you asked me to take a shower and wash my uniform. Oh, my subconscious is a clever little goblin!”

“Is that right, Wade.”

“Yeah, Sweet Cheeks. I mean, if you were really my Spidey, he would have berated me already, saying he is not my anything. But oh God, this is a good one. A porn hallucination with webs and all the works. Yeah, move those fabulous legs and climb over me! I got it, this is a horror thing too, you will turn into a real spider and eat me! I mean, you can do it literally also, it would be sexy to take a trip in your gastronomic system.”

That made Peter halt. Was it alright to have sex with a man who thought you were a hallucination? Wasn’t that abuse?

“Wade? What if this is a real thing? I am not looking for a relationship or anything, but I thought we could, you know, fool around? Like we play video games and mock fight with my B-list villains? Would that be alright?”

Wade let out a gurgling laughter. “Yeah we joke around, Spidey and I. It is like I could feel him crouching on my ass right now his long legs on a wall, squeezing my ribs, maybe popping one. Oh, that’s it! He will start eating from my tender parts, opening my bones like peeling a boiled egg. First my ribs, then maybe my skull? Mm, brain matter, yummy. A zombie spider.”

“Oh sorry”, Peter mumbled, letting his knees lost their grip a little. He was nervous. And horny. Feeling Wade’s steel-like glutes pushing eagerly towards his balls made that to a man. “Wade, please forget that spider metaphor. I am not going to eat you. If that is a fetish of yours I don’t judge, but it is really not my thing. So. Besides me eating you for real, do you have any references? I can make wishes, you know. I just thought, with our powers we don’t have to be so traditional, but I will let you go from this wall, if you don’t feel comfortable me pounding your ass in this position. If I am being honest here, it was the scene I had in mind when I did this.”

“Sorry Baby Boy”, Wade said after a short, nervous (from Peter’s part) silence. “I fainted from a cheer lust for a second here! Anything, Sweetheart. Anything at all, but… You know...”

 _..._ _but not my mask. Don’t take away my mask._ That had been an unwritten law during their whole relationship, and Peter couldn’t complain about it: he knew more about Wade than the merc knew about him anyway. It was not that Wade had any secret identity like Peter had. His whole name, phone number, and professional information were on the Mercs from NYC website. There was just this little problem with his epidermis, which made Wade shy to face the world, so to speak.

Maybe it was better Peter wouldn’t belittle Wade’s problems. He knew the rumors which stated under his mask Deadpool looked like somebody had hurled out a spaghetti dinner. With pieces of avocados, to represent spoiled, greenish things full of pus. He believed those rumors, for he had seen Wade’s hands when he pushed the buttons of his gamepad. Peter wouldn’t have described himself shallow, because any cute guy never did. Maybe if he could see Wade’s face himself he could readjust his opinion. Maybe Wade’s visage wasn’t that bad when you get used to it. His Aunt May was a nurse. She had seen patients with horrible, disfiguring injuries. Maybe he should ask her to tell him if there were ones he could practice with. Or was that too weird? Inconsiderate? Probably it was, and he noticed he had said it aloud too. How come he had to be such a socially awkward nerd, if the issue was not about pummeling some lizard looking guys into their toothy faces?

He was about to apologize and do the situation worse, but Wade got there first. The poor guy giggled. He thought his Spidey was being kinky.

Such a devotion. Peter felt a slump in his throat. It was as if the time had come to pay back all those nice things the mercenary had done to him (the lukewarm tacos after he had battled with Sinister Six were always such a turn-on. Yes, he really meant that, it wasn’t sarcasm! Unlike his dad, Peter wasn’t picky, he ate anything with enough calories to sustain his superfast metabolism).

Peter let his fingertips glue onto Wade’s uniform and then he ripped the fabric covering his ass off. Wade let out an enthusiastic little scream, so it seemed to be a right thing to do. Peter had expected the sight but he still hesitated a moment, then he was pulling the glove of his uniform off, touched carefully the scars. They were constantly changing, moving things, like canyons and valleys which were slowly ground by glacier. It was no eye candy, that was sure. Fascinating, but now Mr. Spock, it was time to do something else. You were not in your lab, but on the roof, having sex with you mate. There were some puss around Wade’s hole too, and he remembered those stories about leper colonies. If he stack himself into that, would his fingers or dick finally rot and fall out? But… And that was a massive but. He liked the guy. Really. In his tight leather uniform he was a sexy piece of funny bones, and Peter, he was a scientist, not some prancing metrosexual hipster to whom nobody was cool enough. It wasn’t any damn biblical curse, anyway. It was just Wade’s cancer fighting for its life, so to speak. Were muscles and blood vessels icky? How about bones? Were skeletons creepy? No, they weren’t, Peter realized, turning his science head on and starting to get exited. Even if he was more technically orientated (thanks dad!), biochemistry was one of his favorite side dishes.

He looked how his lubed finger disappeared between Wade’s cheeks. His hole was so overly tight, and Peter was about to ask Wade to relax when a thought came to his mind. What if… Yes, it was a plausible explanation. Wade literally built himself anew from the scraps. That had to mean he has to pop his cherry after every time he had died. A macabre and curiously exiting thought which was interrupted as Wade hollered like a wolf. Oh, it was good then? Peter added more lube and the second finger, crooking them a little which made Wade buckle like a horse. Thank God, Peter was used to animal themed people, but he had to use more web to keep the man still. He worked Wade slowly but efficiently, getting a litany of endearments as a reward. It was nice. And Wade shooting his load at the same time… God, that was hot!

Wade cummed the second time while Peter was pushing inside him with the real thing. Those massaging movement of Wade’s sphincter almost made him come too. He waited a moment and pushed again, kept his movements steady, minded his sticky fingertips and metal-tenting grip. An orgasm wasn’t an excuse to lose the control of his powers. Even if Wade didn’t get killed, he could still get hurt, and a broken pelvis was a painful thing to have.

He found a rhythm which seemed to please them both, trying different angles. There was one which made Wade meow like a cat which reminded Peter about Felicia. No souvenirs from that catastrophe, thank you, and fortunately Wade was nothing like the Black Cat. Wade was Wade. Peter didn’t know if anybody had ever been so deliriously happy about his mere presence. The healing power meant the guy had no refractory period. Peter had found his match in stamina, which was nice in its own right. It also made him even more careful than usual as he realized how sore Wade’s skin had to be. How much in pain Wade was all the time and not just from the chafes Peter was probably making to him.

“Wade? I am starting to get hungry… is four times okay? Can I come now? Is that alright?”

Wade stuttered and moaned and Peter interpreted that as a yes. He came so hard he had to pull his hands from Wade’s body and push them against the wall. The cement broke a little. For a moment he was afraid he had pushed too strongly against Wade too, but the voices Wade was making were not changed into the whimpers of pain. Peter pulled carefully out and cleaned himself and then Wade with the napkins he had taken from his picnic bag. The web over Wade’s wrists and ankles had dissolved already, so they were free to continue their little gathering.

“Sorry about your pants. I got too excited.”

Wade took a duct tape from one of his many pouches and gave it to Peter. If he could design his own suit, he could certainly tape somebody’s trousers together. He had made himself pants out of web once, but that was nothing to recommend. If you have to get quickly to the bathroom, it all will end into a mess, and nobody made better messes than Wade.

The repairs were done in five minutes, and then they were able to start their lunch break. Milkshakes were a tad too warm and chimichangas too cold, but Wade acted like he had been asked to share a table with… well, somebody famous. Yes, like Spider-Man. They sat as usual; their backs together and facing away from each others. Wade was talking, but Peter didn’t really listen, not this time. He was too hungry and that made him always tired, but not as much as usual. There wasn’t that mental exhaustion which came after playing normal too long. The nicest thing about Wade was how Peter could be himself in his company. He didn’t have to hide his superpowers and on the other hand, he could put his both feet in his mouth as often as he did and Wade would still find him endearing. With him there were no calculating eyes wondering how could some timid science nerd be able to lead a huge international tech company after his genius father was gone. No debutantes or their parents trying to catch a good match for their family fortune. No peers to whom Stark heir would be a powerful and useful ally along their road to success.

Peter imaged how the mask had slid over Wade’s skin, exposed first his neck and jaw, then his lips. Those lips, he imaged them chapped but strong. How they stretched when Wade stuffed his mouth with food. How they would close in that same greedy way around his dick.

God, he was a horny bastard! Maybe as bad as his dear old dad.

“You alright there, Wade”, Peter asked, to get a brief rest from his lecherous thoughts. “You grew silent. Isn’t the food to your liking? It is from that new place. The one with clown umbrella.”

“Oh Spidey... I just…. That was… There really is no fucking words! Do you understand, no fucking words”, Wade tittered. “Too bad that tomorrow, or after some ten minutes, I will think this all was only part of my lively imagination.”

“Alright, Wade. When we do this. That would be like our first time again.”

“Yeah”, Wade let out a happy sight, tapped his own chest. “What a lucky gal.”

Peter had to rummage through his memories to find the right one. “It was from Roger Rabbit, wasn’t it?”

“Of course, Baby Boy. Of course.”


	2. Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Peter arrives home from his “night shift”, Steve has been doing sneaking of his own.

There it was again. The feeling Steve should take a notepad and his easel, make some sketches of that back. How it arched as Tony stretched his legs and arms in his sleep, looking for better position, satisfied like a dog in front of the fireplace, his stomach full of butcher’s best beef. Tony’s hair formed a sharp contrast against the lightness of his pillow and his eyes… Oh those big brown eyes behind the lids which were so dark they looked made-up.

Sleeping Beauty. Who had told you she should be a young flip of girl, when there were middle-aged, so masculine pretty men to choose?

Steve sighed and pushed the workshop door close behind him. Tony looked indeed nice while he was deep in his sleep. There was no reason to spoil that feeling for both of them. Tony was always so constrained if he woke up while Steve was still besides him in his bedroom or his workshop couch. It was awkward and made Steve wish to be anywhere else. The first time the situation had occurred, Steve had indeed hoped he would be fighting Hydra instead of waking up besides his lover. Anything but that look. And perhaps lover was not an accurate word either.

It had been so much easier during his days. Not this gay thing, but relationships in general. You met someone and took them on a date. Maybe movies, maybe dancing. You talked and if the person was for you liking, you went steady with them. If you were a guy, you bought her flowers and finally a ring. That was that. Nothing more complicated.

Now though. You dated or co-habit, were boyfriends or friends with benefits. Someones still engaged to get married, but Steve would not be among the lucky few, not if he planned to continue this thing he had with Tony. Their thing was one of those new and vague ones. You were together, but not really. There were no common coals or clear rules, as Steve had already seen. It was a little like you would be with a prostitute, but without paying anything. Not that Steve had ever been with a prostitute. That would have been too sad, not to say illegal. But sometimes, after he had been with Tony and he was able to sneak out before the man woke up, or worse, he slept too long and saw a disturbed look on Tony’s face, Steve didn’t feel like a boyfriend, a lover, or a fiance. He felt like a prostitute.

So. Instead of talking about the issue with Tony like a reasonable adult, Steve removed it from his mind. Again. Maybe because he knew it wouldn’t be sensible to rattle the cage he was in. Maybe he was scared what Tony would say. Waited Tony to realize what he was doing. That it was just Steve, not some pretty dame or good-looking fella who was attuned to Tony’s world, in which were lots of flashy parties and social media and computers and phones which were not Steve’s forte. Give him a few dozen Hydra soldiers to bash, that was more like it.

It was no wonder Tony was careful with him, not to get too attached. Steve was no good for him anyway. Actually, Steve was bad for him, or properly speaking, they were bad together. Tony was right. Steve was the leader of the Avengers and if the others knew about their involvement, it could mean problems. They could accuse Steve of being biased. Maybe he already was, if he thought about it honestly. He had given Tony lots of lack, during the missions or otherwise. The others had teased him about it, knowing he wouldn’t have tolerated such a conduct from any other member of their team. Only from their Invincible Iron Man. His Shellhead. His best buddy. When he really thought about it, he knew he was compromised badly. Of course he was. He should at least tell the others, but Tony had said…

As usual, Tony had made their secrecy sound reasonable. First of all, Clint would tease the hell out of them, but that was almost tolerable. The big question mark was Peter, Tony’s son. He was almost nineteen, so not a toddler, but that was a part of the problem, wasn’t it? As nineteen he could have been Steve’s little brother more than his step-son, and boy, if that didn’t made Tony feel his age. The man was so vain it sometimes annoyed Steve.

But it was something else too, wasn’t it? More than shame to shack a man so much younger (not literally) than he was. He had known Peter for years now, he was a reasonable lad. Peter would understand, and he would be annoyed about his dad’s attempts to protect his sensibilities. Peter would see the situation how it was and pity Steve, who had lost the control of his own life so easily, just because of one alluring knight in his shining armor.

That was it. Bullseye. Because what Steve really was. He wasn’t a national hero, a legend made alive. Captain America was all those things, not Steve Rogers. Steve was just a kid from Brooklyn. A weak and sickly lad before the super soldier serum had made him a science fiction miracle being.

Like Tony had once shouted at him in anger, all Steve was had come from the bottle. Without his powers he hadn’t been much in the begin with, and here in the future world he was even less than that. A kid from the wrong side of the tracks and a prince of the technology empire. In a real life there were no such a fairy tales. Steve hadn’t turned into something shiny, but not into pumpkin either. And men like Tony, they needed their suitable partners. Their consorts, to rule besides them. To merge their family fortune with Tony’s to gain more fortune. Steve couldn’t do that. He had no money and about his techno savvy: sometimes he wasn’t able to remember how to make a simple call with his smartphone.

He was an oddity in this time and age. An anomaly. Maybe that was why he had been able to keep Tony’s wandering attention this long. He was not good enough to go steady with but interesting enough to keep along. At least for a while.

The clock on the kitchen wall said he had slept for four hours. It was more than enough for him nowadays. He took some orange juice and an apple from the fridge and sat in the couch. This television was swell, having so much of everything. He should choose a documentary or something even lightly sensible, but of course he picked up one of his favorite dramas.

He was still watching TV and making sketches on his notepad when he heard the elevator. He half waited to see Tony coming from his workshop, but it was Peter. The boy stopped in his tracks as he saw Steve.

“Uh… hello.”

“Hi… oh, is it the breakfast time already? Were you at Ned’s?”

The boy shuffled his feet and didn’t look him in the eyes as he nodded. Steve had to hide his smile behind his pad. Peter was such a bad liar. Like his father. The boy seemed to be alright, and that was the most important. Even if Tony always fussed over him like a mother hen, he was an adult, and needed his space. Or maybe it was just Steve this time. Oh God. He felt himself blushing as Peter came closer. The boy radiated exactly same after-sex glow than Tony, that smug satisfaction which was almost a tangible thing.

Fortunately Clint had a good timing. The archer had a breakfast shift, and he was making his usual show about it. His lamenting about his bad fortune was heard long before the guy reached the kitchen grounds.

“Good morning to you too, Clint. You better hurry up, don’t forget we have an appointment today.”

Clint hissed something inaudible and probably rude. Peter sat himself at the kitchen island and started munching a banana. “Where to?” he mumbled his mouth full. “Is it some Avengers business? I thought Dad had that investors meeting today.”

“No, it is just me and Clint. We have been invited to Harrowgate.”

“What… Why?”

Peter’s astonishment was understandable. Harrowgate was a prison and the Avengers didn’t usually deal with that end of the things. They came, busted some heads and let the SHIELD or the police handle the rest.

“Its part of their new program”, Steve explained. “They asked the prisoners to write a letter to a superhero who arrested them. Or some hero or vigilante they had fought with but lost.”

“You must be kidding me! What are they doing, a sadistic therapy? Do they believe humiliating does the trick?”

“It was not as bad as you think. I have read some of those letters. They were confusing at first, but I think their point is to make them take responsibility of their own actions. If our visit helps them to do that, I must strongly approve.”

Harrowgate was a prison for supervillains. Or urban terrorists, as they were nowadays called. It was not like Raft, but a low security place for those minor or moderate offenders who had shown clean signs they could be rehabilitated. The prison had launched multiple programs and hired counselors and social workers to ensure the transition from the imprisonment to the freedom went as smoothly and productively as possible. Steve would be more than happy to rehearsal a few sappy, inspiring speeches, if that helped somebody to abandon his criminal career.

“Yeah right”, Clint huffed. “Moaning about the circumstances or writing sob stories about their grim childhood. Oh boohoo!”

“Yeah, I understand why they want to meet you”, Peter nodded to Steve who had moved himself from the couch to sit opposite Peter and his plate staggering with pancakes. How much that kid ate, anyway? “I bet every boy in this country has sometimes wanted to be like Captain America. But why contact Clint?”

“Hey! You little…”

Clint threw an orange towards Peter, but Steve snatched it easily before it hit the youngster. The boy was a bit on a clumsy side. He wouldn’t have been able to dodge it anyway.

“As you can recall, Clint is even better role model for them than me. He is a living proof how adjusting your attitude can really make a difference.”

At the beginning of his career, Clint Barton had been dipping on the wrong side of the law. He had cleaned his act, and joining the Avengers had been like a seal of approval to that major turning point in his life. But they couldn’t ask every former crook to join their team, could they? Steve had to think about something else, if their attendance or pep talks weren’t enough to convince their audience.

“I got only one measly letter. So what”, Clint groused. “You have had seventy years to do your propaganda.”

That was right, but it was still odd. Many of those inmates were Spider-Man’s adversaries. Steve wondered why they hadn’t written to the wall-crawler.

“Well, duh”, Peter huffed. “Maybe they got smart and realized it wouldn’t be such a great idea.”

“Why do you think that is, Peter?”

The youngster shrugged his shoulders. “Yeah, like what would Spidey say to them? Like hey, sorry dude I started those yo mamma jokes. I didn’t know she died in the Invasion just a week earlier.”

Steve didn’t know what to say to _that_. Spider-Man hadn’t been with the Avengers long, but he had already proven to be dutiful, possess high moral standards. No wonder people called him the friendly neighborhood Spider-Man. The young man was always eager to help those in need.

But on the other side, it was like Peter had pointed out. Spidey was mouthy. Sometimes bordering rude, like Deadpool with whom he had been seen spending lots of time recently.

Maybe that mouth was the reason his former adversaries didn’t want to meet him but had chosen Steve instead. Captain America was not known to tell inconsiderable jokes when a person was in his most vulnerable. And it didn’t get much more vulnerable than a man sitting in prison, his life turned upsides down. Even if the situation was by his own approving.


	3. Clint

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint and Steve visit Harrowgate Prison and meet a bunch of Spider-Man’s old adversaries. Clint suffers a severe attack of murophobia.

Clint wasn’t happy. First that security check had taken his bow and arrows away, and now the guard was nagging something about his knives too. How they will be dangerous, if the inmates get their hands on them. And they were so tiny knives! Almost babies! One in his both boots and some others inside his vest and maybe a few throwing stars here and there.

Alright. There were a few more things. They were in the box now and the guards were promising he would get them back. Clint felt himself naked as he walked through the metal detectors. Nothing peeped this time. Steve came right behind him, and then one of the guards gave him his shield back.

That was so unfair! But nothing unusual per se. Clint protested anyway, because… duh! That was what they expected him to say. “Hey! Why does Cap get to keep his shield?”

“Can you throw it?” the guard asked, leering at him. The asshole.

“Yes, Clint. Can you?”

That was atypically mean from Steve. From Clint it would have been his normal chit-chat.

“I know you snatched it and practiced in the gym”, Steve explained when they continued down the corridor. “Tony showed me the recordings.”

“Then you know how it went.”

Not very well. Steve gave him a smug smile. At least he had made happy the captain of their starship and his number one as Clint called Steve and Tony in his mind. Eating popcorn and laughing at his attempts to get that impossible, over-sized salad bowl to obey him. But the incident wasn’t the reason why Clint was thorny today. As everyone knew, his career as a costume hero had started in less than honorable way. His trip into the joint had been a short one, but enough to last him a lifetime. Clint felt sweaty and cold at the same time, even if the air-conditioning kept the temperature moderate. It was like the walls were closing in and he wondered would it be possible to have a phobia about being institutionalized. Probably it was.

Oh those good bad days! But how could he keep calling those guys losers, when even coming here made him feel like this? To be shut down into this place, Clint would go mad in a few weeks. Those guys who tolerated this and even tried to better themselves? Maybe he should give them some kudos about that.

Their contact was waiting at the door of the meeting room. She was the therapist who had orchestrated the whole shebang. That was all well and proper, if she didn’t keep acting around Steve like he was a combination of the Second Coming and the best pork sandwich she had ever tasted. There had been time when the sight of it had made Clint sneer for he had thought Steve sought out all that attention himself. He knew better now. When the therapist turned her back, Clint gabbed his own behind, mimicking the gesture the people usually wanted to perform to that America’s ass. Steve rallied to the challenge and showed him his tongue.

Then they were through the door and it was time to get serious. There were the guys Steve and Clint had set to meet. _Sinister Six on training wheels_ , Clint had called them in his mind after reading their files. Some of them Clint had met personally. Like Ringer and Boomerang. Those others… Rocket Racer… was that the original or the second version? Kangaroo… that guy was always a barrel of laughs to fight with, poor bastard. Then there was some teenager. A speed demon. A mutant. That made Clint remember his old teammate, Pietro. The kid got those power dampeners, which shine like black anklets against the orange of his prison gear. Would it feel like his feet had cut off from his ankles?

Clint gasped. Behind the others, where shadows made the most dramatic effect, sat a big, hairy thing with its slimy tail and those long, sharp teeth. _Oh_ _G_ _od_ , Clint wailed in his mind. Nobody had told them the Vermin would be included in the happy bunch.

“I am a clone”, said a raspy but oddly civilized voice. “If you have met a guy like me before in some mighty fight, that wasn’t me. I am here because I snatched food from the butcher’s shop. A thief and a clear and present health hazard, the judge called me.”

The therapist cleared her throat.

“Aaand I kind of bit the shop owner when he tried to catch me”, the Vermin confessed. He sounded embarrassed, but without proper human facial expressions it was hard to tell.

 _Catch him_ , Clint thought hysterically. _Who in his right mind_ _will_ _chase after a giant-sized, talking rat? Where_ _is_ _Punisher when you really need an exterminator?_

Steve was gazing at him with The Look. Clint screwed up his courage and turned to face the Ratty, giving him a hasty nod. “Sorry to hear, dude. Nobody should need to steal just because they are tired to eat from the dumpsters.”

“I don’t really mind. Just sometimes. And the rest of it was my own fault, anyway.”

Those teeth! Clint imagined how they would sink into his arm and he gagged from repulsion. He tried to keep his gaze in Steve’s ear, but it didn’t help the sounds. That scratching noise, when long toenails moved nervously on the floor tiles. The fleshy slaps of the tail.

“Clint”, Steve whispered. “What is wrong with your? Stop squeezing my arm.”

“I can’t do this.”

“Yes you can. Sit down.”

He was halfway up from his chair, when his thigh muscles heard the command and made him slump down again. Steve had used his Captain Voice. Six pair of regular human eyes and one pair of glowing red something stood also in attention, Cap had that effect on people. And rats.

There were some news reels from the time Cap had been making entertainment tour in Europe, selling war bonds. That guy could sing. And dance. A regular monkey, and Clint waited him to launch into an elevated but vapid speech which the troops always expected to hear in these situations.

“Alright, guys. Let’s cut the crap.”

Captain America using foul language? That got their attention. “Before we do anything else... You!”

The guy lurched from his chair by the power of Cap’s pointing finger.

“Me, sir?”

“Rocket, isn’t it? And Boomerang and Kangaroo. A question for you. Why me?”

“Sir?”

“I mean why did you pick me? I don’t think we two are met. Why didn’t you write your letter to Spider-Man? You all have head-butted with him enough times.”

A silly question. Who wouldn’t want to meet Captain America if given a chance to do that without a shield bouncing from your face? But maybe Steve was right. Maybe there was something going on in there. More than a good old-fashioned hero worshiping.

“Spidey is good with his mouth”, Steve implied. “He could be annoying. Annoys me too sometimes.”

“It is not that.”

Kangaroo seemed to think again the sensibility of speaking aloud when all the attention turned towards him. “It is just…” he stammered. “We talked about it, and… we don’t think that Spider-Man… we don’t think that he is actually a man. Sir.”

“Yes, I have read about these things”, Steve mused. “So you are saying he is actually a she, even if she looks like a male?”

“No, we didn’t mean it like that!” Kangaroo was in his way to panic attack. “Fred, you explain!”

“Thanks, Brian”, Boomerang said with a sarcasm so heavy it would have put fat mama jokes out of commission. “It was just that... One time when we tussled, my boomerang, it hit Spidey on the throat and… when he started to speak again I realized he alters his real voice with some device and without it, he sounded like he was damn twelve.”

“So he was young sounding?”

“No, not just that. You can really leave that man out of it, he was a damn kid! I lost the fight to somebody who hadn’t gained all his permanent teeth yet. You can guess I don’t want him here to remind me about how big a loser I really am. Sir.”

“Not just trying to beat up a kid”, Kangaroo said quietly. “Beaten up by him too.”

The others nodded in unison.

“When did this happen?

Boomerang didn’t need think about it. “Right before I was sentenced. About three years ago.”

“Alright”, Steve sighed. “That was… an explanation.”

Clint could see from Steve’s jumping jaw muscle that Spidey had to soon do some explaining of his own. “I asked because… Well, I was afraid you may be disappointed. I always hear I am such a dinosaur, and you are all men in your prime, starting a new life, looking forward. What you have been doing here… I read something about it from your letters, but I would like to hear more. Why don’t you start, Keith.”

It was Ringer’s real name. The guy blushed in delight. Captain America had read his letter, yahoo! Oh keep those hands over the sheet tonight, pal.

It went on like that a few hours. Clint had to confess he took a little nap, just waking up when that oddly husky and sophisticated voice started talking. The Vermin was explaining how he was studying to be a dog barber... Trimmer. Something. At least he had lots of hair to play with if he wanted to practice.

Sorry. Not sorry. A. Giant. Rat. There was no way around it.

That’s all folks! Clint was ready to go when Rocket asked if Cap could maybe deliver them something inspirational. Not that he hadn’t already, but, you know… Please, please like.

Clint knew. Speech, speech, speech! He noticed he was chanting among the others. Steve raised from his seat, raised his hands. The room grew silent.

“Lady”, Steve said gravelly, nodding to the therapist and then turning his attention to the waiting audience in front of him. “My fellow countrymen. There are times which ask our patience and the fortitude of our hearts.”

It was probably a good speech, Steve’s always were. Sappy enough, even inspirational enough, if you lost your cynicism for a moment and let the message touch you. Clint tuned the words out, just enjoying the rhythm of Steve voice. Steve had such a nice voice, rigorous and comforting at the same time.

One successful delivery. The satisfied customers.

“That was so wonderful”, the therapist woman beamed. It was finally over and the three of them were standing in the corridor again. “Very empowering! I mean of course as a mental exercise.”

Of course. Powers had been what got those guys in the trouble the first place.

“I just hoped that Herman would have been able to attend.”

That was the Shocker. He had been on the list. Not the Vermin. Clint decided he hated the guy in principle. He had ditching them to Mr. Slimy Tail, after all.

 _No Steve, no_ , Clint wanted to protest when the therapist continued her sob story about poor Herman. How he had been so depressed lately. He was about to be released in six months and the therapist suspected he was scared of the prospect of freedom. The prison was an easy place to be, you didn’t have to wonder how to pay the bills or what to eat tomorrow or if you had a roof over your head next month. When you got your freedom, the baby-sitting ended. You will have to take care of yourself and do it in an honest way. And if you have never done the deed, your lack of experience will be a devastating roadblock in your trail to the normal living.

“Could it be possible… if you have time? Could you maybe meet him in private?”

Clint wanted to groan. Of course it was possible. It was Cap. And if it wasn’t Cap, it was Steve. The guy was too goodhearted.

Clint was spoiling so deeply in his frustration, he didn’t first notice they had come from the cell block to the medical wing.

“Yes. Like I said, he had been depressed. Very quiet the last two weeks. That is a real shame, because we should continue with his program. He was getting so good grades, and now he has already missed one important exam.”

“He is studying”, Steve was saying. “What field he is interested in?”

“He is doing college courses in electronics.”

That made Clint pay attention again. “Is that sensible? That was his thing as a costumed criminal.”

“Mr. Barton.” His name was pronounced with a frozen edge. No tittering for Hawkeye. “Mr. Schultz is one of the best results of our program. He is very involved in using his considerable gifts in a productive but totally legal way. That is the real purpose of the change, not burying your past mistakes and pretending they don’t exist.”

There was a small nurses station with a lonely woman working with the computer. As she raised her gaze and realize who was standing in front of her, she had to make a visible effort to keep her cool.

“How is he, Audrey?”

The nurse shook her head her eyes still on Steve. “Same as yesterday, I am afraid. He hardly ate anything at lunch. He seems to be more and more withdrawn. Doctor Warren talked about adjusting his medication tomorrow.”

The therapist sighed. “As I was afraid. Maybe seeing you could… We can try, can’t we?”

Yeah, put some pressure on the man! Sometimes it was so totally unfair how people thought Steve could make miracles happen.

Steve nodded and the nurse hurried to unlock the door. She stood aside when they entered. It was a plain hospital room, tidy and light-colored without an ounce of personality.

“Herman. Look who has come to visit you. It’s Captain Rogers. Do you remember how you wrote to him?”

The Shocker was sitting in his bed. He didn’t seem to notice them, but was trying hard to keep it together, whatever it was. Clint had more street savvy than Steve, and his first thought was: drugs. The second thought made some adjustment to the first one: some new design drug those idiots don’t have a test yet.

It was not impossible to get your fix in prison. If you had money and connections, it was quite easy, actually. There were other inmates, their visitors, even the staff who could help you with your dangerous habits for price. The Shocker was a bank robber. Those guys were like squirrels, they had dashes somewhere.

The therapist lady too started to suspect something was wrong. The Shocker’s face glistered with sweat and a constant small trembling was making his limbs wonky as he tried to stand. Or fleet. There was no escaping those mighty paws, though. Steve put his hands on the Shocker’s shoulders and pushed him gently down on the bed.

“Steady, son. What did you say?”

Herman indeed was mumbling something. Steve bent to listen. There was something red and it was pouring out of Steve and…

The therapist started screaming. Steve lurched and then he was down on the floor. Clint rushed besides him, ready to defend his fallen comrade, but it seemed Shocker had made his big move and the second attack wasn’t coming. Clint pushed his palm against Steve’s chest to keep him down. The fucker had stabbed Steve in the neck with a sharpened pen body.

“Steve, don’t touch it. If you take it away, you will bleed to death. Not even your healing factor can compensate that much.”

Steve seemed to understand him. His eyelids fluttered. Great. He was losing conscious. Maybe it was not a bad thing. Clint just had to keep him steady.

“Call in the doctor!” he shouted to the women when neither of them moved. “Don’t just stand there! Do something!”

“He… he has a sick day...”

No doctor. Clint had already activated the emergency call of his Avengers card. It took still almost eight agonizing minutes before the SHIELD medics rushed into the room. Thank God they had been in the city and not in some wretched mountains like the SHIELD liked to keep those supervillains who were dangerous for real. What was he thinking about, the man had almost killed Steve! It didn’t get much more dangerous than that!

Steve was stabilized and ready to be moved. The medics left in a hurry with their precious cargo, and Clint knew he should go with them, go with Steve. But there was something else he had to do first.

Shocker was face down on the floor, his hands cuffed and a barrel of an assault rifle pushed into the back of his head. Black fury descended into the archer’s mind. How dare him! First he wrote to Steve some sappy letter and then… There was no explanation the guy could give him. No excuse.

“Let the suspect up. Take a break. I will handle this.”

“Agent Barton...”

“Outside, rookie. Now. Close the door.”

Clint took a grip of the cuffed arm and yanked Shocker to the sitting position. He stayed in the place Clint left him like a broken dolly. Clint didn’t care. He was about to hit the guy. Hit him and kick him and not to stop for a while. Luckily his blades were in the guards station, or he would have stabbed him into the places it hurt the most leaving him still alive. What the hell was wrong with the guy? It couldn’t be some pathetic revenge plan, he had never even met Steve. Shocker was totally one of Spidey’s motley crew. He had no superpowers, but he was a self-taught engineer, had made himself gauntlets, which emitted high-pressure air blasts. That’s why the name Shocker.

He had gotten his GED while in prison. Making now college courses in electronics. And that one time...

That one time. He had bested Spider, left him unconscious. Nevertheless, the villain hadn’t done anything to the kid, not even ripped his mask off. Shocker had always been strictly business, no megalomaniac plans, no petty grudges, just money. Clint hesitated, and then he heard what Shocker must have been mumbling this whole time. He was talking about killing himself. No, it was more like he was ordering himself to harm himself.

Cold shivers went along Clint’s spine. That was it. The missing piece of the puzzle.

It was like on that roof a month ago, and all those other cases Clint had found afterwards in the SHIELD files and the police reports and forwarded them to Fury. Eight small-time costumed criminals, dead by their own hands or by the police. And one of them dead by an Avenger. Killed by Clint. The arrow had been meant to stop the crook, so Clint had hit his leg, in the harmless but painful place. But the guy had ripped his arrow off and then he did what Shocker had been contemplating to do before Steve interrupted him, stabbed himself into the neck with a sharp object. The guy had died instantly. But why had Shocker attacked Steve instead?

Fury had complained Clint was paranoid or probably riddled with misplaced quilt, but look at who was paranoid now.

Agents were still waiting outside the door, maybe wondering why they were not hearing any screams of pain or noise of the fight. “Call another med team”, Clint ordered the team leader. “Mr. Schultz is coming with us. He is not to be harmed in any way during the transfer. Do you have your phone?”

Clint’s own phone was with his weapons. Agent pulled his phone from the pocket and gave it to him.

“Hi, Ms. Jones”, he said when the chief psychic of the SHIELD PSI Division answered. “Guess what, now I got you a new one, and this one is alive. We are taking him to the base… Yes, we are there about fifteen. I know. I will look after it.”

It took longer than that. This time it hadn’t been a priority one call. Nobody was dying, even if Shocker was getting worse by the minute. Just like that guy on the roof.

Shocker was already heavily sedated when the medics pulled him on the trolley. Clint still advised them to use wrist restrains; just to be on the safe side. He had promised the guy alive to Ms. Jones.


	4. Peter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter’s science brain gets the better of him which leads to his second seduction attempt. You can’t get enough of the icky stuff, can you?

After the breakfast Peter made a short round in the lab. He had several projects which he should at least supervise. Some of them could be something groundbreaking, others just for fun, and one, still in his mind. He was so deep in his thoughts when the idea started to focus he didn’t see or hear anything outside his head and sat on the unfortunate lab assistant who wasn’t fast enough to move from his seat. The staff was used to their boss’s eccentric son and didn’t mind his sometimes strange behavior. There were some good-natured jokes and head shaking when Peter dropped himself on the emptied chair, his fingers already flying over the keyboard before his butt hit the leather.

The next four hours saw Peter in his work. Sometime he realized he was eating a sandwich which some nice person must had put in his hand. Maybe Pepper, she had probably been looking for Tony, who had an astonishing ability to disappear before the meetings he had deemed boring. It could have also been Steve… No, Steve had said he was going somewhere.

About going. He didn’t need much time to change into his other work clothes. The travel through the city was always faster by webs anyway. And you needed to provide some fan service time to time, didn’t you? Peter had seen the figures. The amount of tourists who arrived NYC because of the possibility to see a real live superhero was staggering. Peter was glad he could contribute to the economy, usually he and the others were on the other side of the equation. Ruined buildings, damaged property, cars left useless, and sometimes, sometimes… yeah, that. All those things you couldn’t measure in dollars.

He took a metro or at least its roof before continuing his usual swing. The closer he got to Wade’s digs, the less he had to worry about tourists and their sensibilities. Wade lived in the neighborhood in which people scurried to the shadows if they saw him swinging by. He landed on the roof of the right building and padded along the wall to the Wade’s floor. He dived into carpet after going through the window just in case Wade was holding a gun and having an episode.

Wade wasn’t in the living room. The sounds and the smell of gun oil from the kitchen told Peter the mercenary was maintaining his equipment. Peter took a rucksack from his back and lowered it on the couch. There was a full stacked set for sampling which he organized on the table after he had cleared some space beside the old magazines and dirty dishes.

“Wade, I will need some of your pus.”

“Alright, baby boy. Do you want it with or without pizza? I personally like pepperoni with my pus, but maybe you are more like chicken and Parmesan?”

That was a good idea. Peter’s stomach growled at the prospect of more food. He had drank one of his dad’s protein shakes before leaving the Stark Tower, but its calories were already gone.

“You smell of fresh gunpowder”, Peter noticed when Wade came closer. His comment got the merc halt his steps.

“Some problems in the harbor, nothing serious. I can shower.”

“On the contrary, you smell fine. Opens sinuses really well. Could you take the shirt away, please. I would harvest right away, because there will be nothing much left after we…”

Now was Peter’s turn to halt. It wasn’t just his decision, was it? It was possible Wade didn’t remember yesterday and their great roof top tryst. And even if he would remember, maybe Wade was like his dad who didn’t rinse and repeat.

The samplings ended up into the fridge. They ended up in the coach, eating pizza and playing Mario Kart. Because Wade hadn’t put his shirt back on, Peter took his own away, to be supportive. Maybe some time soon he could ask Wade to lose his mask. Not today. Shirtless men in masks. If somebody looked through the window they would think they were having a fetish club meeting.

“Wade is it OK to lose my tights? It is a bit hot in here. You can also undress if you want… I just thought… maybe I would better check you legs too. See if I could get a different sample. And then afterwards… we could have sex? If you want?”

Maybe he should work on his seduction. Oh well. It was well received anyway. Wade got his sweats off quickly. Nothing else was needed, he was going commando. Peter did the same trick, and… yeah, the fetish club, here we come.

“I am just wondering”, Peter said eyeing the ceiling. “I don’t think that is sturdy enough to stand our weight… and your bed. I wouldn’t want to break it. If you don’t mind… how much you like this couch? I mean, if I accidentally break something when I bend over it?”

Wade didn’t mind the couch. Which was a good thing, because the first time Wade hit his prostate, Peter’s jaw flexed and fingers tightened until the wood of the couch frame let out a pitiful squeak. Peter whimpered and then bit his lower lip until he tasted blood. Oh God, oh God, he had to get Wade to some place with a mirror, a mirror wall, to see how he was pushing in and out of him, and those sound, those obscene slapping noises when their flesh touched each others…

Mirror wall? To a guy who hated his looks? His skin, his face? Very considerate again, Peter. Maybe a bathtub instead. Some bath salt which would feel nice while water was preventing chafing Wade’s sore skin.

All the thoughts disappeared from Peter’s head when Wade’s rough hand touched his rod. He let out a shout and came Wade’s praises in his ears. God, he sounded so nice. Like a big talking cat, purring endearments his masked cheek pushing against his.

It was an endless list. Peter let himself go, let Wade go, and gathered them, again and again. Ten condoms lay inside the trash bin. Or in this case, on the living room floor. They should pick them up later.

“Was this our first time?” Wade asked when they limped to the shower. “Or is this some other time? I had an odd dejavu. Have we had sex before or was it somebody else?”

Wade stood under the shower head. How could so big guy look so small and lost.

“This was our second. Don’t worry, Wade. If it is important to you, I can keep score.”

God, he was tired. Wade had done his job really thoroughly. And Peter… He had become inspired. Thank god, Wade’s hip was still alright as were his other body parts. The couch was ruined, but it had smelled funny anyway. And it probably had had some lice.

He yawned. “When was the last time you changed sheets, Wade? Do you have sheets? Oh well, never mind. I could sleep in a garbage can… and I have, sometime. It was after that fight with the Goblin, I think. Really funny story. I was...”

For some reason Wade dashed to the bedroom and slammed the door shut in front of his nose, cutting his sentence short. Soon Peter started hearing noise, like something hard and heavy was thrown into the metallic box and then the said box was dragged across the floor.

“Sorry, baby boy”, Wade asked when he finally opened the door again. “Never thought I would have you in this room. It is kind of beaten to shit… never mind. Just don’t ask me to do anything in the kitchen now. Maybe we could order another pizza if you are hungry? Puss and chicken Parmesan?”

“Maybe in the morning. Thanks Wade… oh, you changed the sheet? That is really sweet, babe.”

Peter noticed he was using the same tone of voice as his dad when he talked to his himbos, and he almost kicked himself. (He could really do that, he was that bendy.) Wade’s sheets were pink and he had a body billow which looked like a giant lobster with a bow tie. In the corner near the window was a pile of ripped paper, obviously teared in haste, some corners of the posters could still be seen under the duct tape on the walls, besides some bullet holes. Peter assumed posters had been some kiddie anime or bikini ladies until he saw a familiar red hue and some black lines which could have been web. Wade had had posters of the Spidey. It made Peter blush and he felt oddly flattered. Not stalkerish, no. Peter had known the mercenary, how many years. And had Wade ever been disrespectful towards him? A plenty! All the time! But… and that was a big but, yes, with only one t. Wade wasn’t...

“You mean… you wanna sleep in my bed. With me?”

That was Wade. If you were talking about high maintenance partners, Wade Wilson wasn’t among those.

“Do you have a puppy? That will do too. No? Well, then I will settle for you. Maybe we have to do the sampling again in the morning… If you don’t mind.”

Wade didn’t mind. Peter wasn’t able to execute his plan anyway. When he woke up and started munching cereals Wade had brought to them in the bed, he remembered his phone. He had put it off sometime in the lab and it had been closed ever since. Maybe he shouldn’t have. There were over fifty unanswered calls, most of them from his dad’s number. Peter wanted to roll his eyes. What he was, twelve? It was time Tony should used to the idea he couldn’t control every breath Peter took. There were also messages. He skipped those from his dad and read one of Aunt Natasha’s. He expected it to be an amused order to contact his dad right away that Tony would stop annoying the others by his whining. The message wasn’t nothing of that kind. Peter’s own annoyance melted away and was replaced with stomach turning threat when he read the short lines. He opened some other messages as well but they all were telling him the same thing.

“Wade! I gotta go! Cap is hurt! Some crazy person stabbed him. They had to operate him… God, I can’t go like this! Do I have a change of clothes in here? My sweats… Oh, there! Thanks, babe! Look, I don’t know when...”

His phone had started ringing right after he put a short message forward to their AvengersFamily group. Peter winced. His dad would be pissed, and this time it felt deserved. But whatever Tony had to say, Peter would do better by talking with him face to face.

He got his old sweats into the rucksack. There were some bloodstains from that one time… never mind! Wade’s T-shirt would be too big for him. He would have to tie the helm and look like a beach bum. The web shooters were half full and would get him easily near the SHIELD compound they had taken Steve.

Peter was ready to dive through the open window, but he turned and rushed in front of Wade, raised his heels until only his toes touched the floor. They were both wearing their masks, but he gave a quick kiss on the place the merc’s mouth would be. Wade’s usual word vomit halted and his restless body petrified. When he got himself on the move again, Peter was already out and swinging as quickly as he was able towards downtown.


	5. Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is seriously hurt. Nobody knows how to reach Peter. The billionaire genius takes both news in his usual calm and sensible manner.

When the Avengers emergency signal came through, Tony was in the meeting. There were lots of meetings to go when you were a CEO of the multinational tech company, and this was the third in the row. Later on Tony was very shamed that his first emotion had been a relief. Yes, bring on Count Nefaria dancing on the bones of dead children, if Tony don’t have to sit through the budget hearing of the R&D department of his own damn company.

The alarms were color coded, and that shade of red made Tony really move his feet and browse his phone. The code meant one of their own was down, and Tony was first sure it had to be Spidey. Oh God, hopefully he wasn’t badly hurt, Tony loved that mouthy little shit! Spidey reminded Tony of a younger version of himself. Sometimes he had a thought, and this was the most forbidden thought of them all, but he couldn’t help it. He loved his son, and Peter was brilliant. He was going to make wonderful inventions, win Nobel prizes, the whole shebang, but…

Yeah, bad Tony! When he looked Spidey to go, so headstrong, skillful, and full of brass, he couldn’t help wondering what it would be like if Peter had such a spunk. If he wasn’t so introvert, but spoke his mind, actually payed attention when his Aunt Natasha tried to teach him self-defense classes the boy so sorely needed but busted every time. If Peter was a little less Mr. Robot and a little more Mr. A.

Poor Spidey! But who else it could be? Natasha or Clint? Maybe, they did lots of shady jobs besides their roles in the team, and being an assassin spy wasn’t the safest thing in the world. Janet? Sam? Again maybe, but Janet was in a habit to shrink her problems and step on them and Sam was on a leave of absence, not even in the country right now. Thor? If his nasty step brother Loki stayed where he was supposed to be which meant the Asgardian prison, there was very rare beings in this realm who could hurt the god-like Avenger.

That left only Tony and Steve. No, Tony couldn’t believe it even when they got Clint’s confirmation. Captain America was not… Everyone knew Captain America can’t…

Captain America didn’t lose fights. He never gave up. He was the patriotic spirit of their nation. Immortal idea.

But Steve, Steven Grant Rogers was just a human being. What Clint was saying? Stabbed? How? What for the fuck’s sake!

“Tony, I have the car ready. We just have to get you down these stairs, okay? Then we will get you to the hospital to see Steve.”

It was Happy. Tony felt his chauffeur's fingers around his arm. He should be on the air already, why hadn’t he took his suit with him?

“Tony”, Happy said gently. “Come on.”

Happy, Pepper, and Rhodey were only ones who knew. They had seen Tony in his most pathetic so many ways. They had suffered through his sexcapes, scandals, and alcoholism. His permanent and hopeless crush on one walking flag of a man was only an appetizer for them in the shitshow which was Tony Stark’s everyday life.

He had no idea how Happy got him in the car. He squeezed his phone, which chimed at the even pace. The others updated their locations or their information of the situation. Nothing useful and still Tony’s mind was filled with numb threat, when his phone started chiming Public Enemy’s Fight the Power. It was his theme for Director Nick Fury of SHIELD. The song had started anew before his trembling finger finally did the smart thing and wiped the green button.

“How is he? Don’t say he is dead. Don’t you fucking say it, Fury.”

The silence felt too long. Then Fury sighed and started his briefing. “I am not going to lie to you, Stark. It was a close call. The blade missed the artery only by a fraction of inch. The med evac got here a minute go. Cap is on his way to the operation table right now. I inform you and the team when something more happens.”

Nothing happened. Not in hours. Tony had abundance of time to ponder every hurtful thing he had ever said to Steve when they sat in the lobby of the medical bay, waiting for information Fury had promised to them. How he had hated Steve at the first sight, the walking and talking human flagpole who had stolen his father’s love. The perfect son Howard had wanted instead of Tony.

They had fought like cats and dogs, in and out of their team meetings. Tony hissing and puffing his tail, Steve showing his teeth and growling. Fury took Tony aside, telling the situation couldn’t go on. Told him it was actually Iron Man the team needed, and Iron Man was an armor, it could be piloted by anybody, it didn’t need to be Tony. If Fury had to choose between Tony and Steve…

The story of his life.

It had really started looking like Tony would be out of the Avengers. They were both too pigheaded to give up a good grudge. But then…

Tony had been hurt. It wasn’t anything overly bad. Only his arm. But he had been hurt by saving Captain America’s bacon and that should count on something, right?

It indeed did. Steve brought him coffee. To thank him, he said. He had made it himself, not with a coffee maker he still didn’t know how to use, but in an old fashioned way, he had found a coffee pot in some garage sale. Steve didn’t drink coffee, so had he bought it to make him some? That earned him a tour in Tony’s workshop. Steve had never been there before and his open-mouthed wonder was endearing. He petted Tony’s robots like they were living beings, and if that wasn’t a way to Stark men’s iron hearts Tony didn’t know what was.

Things got better after that. They still fought, after Tony was being reckless (Steve’s words) and Steve being a sanctimonious prick (Tony’s words), but they were getting there. Being teammates. Being friends. But then…

Of course Tony had to blow it. It was what he always did. Ruined every good thing in his life.

If it had a pulse, Tony Stark flirted with it. That was a nature law, like gravitation. He had gone through the motions with Steve also, and that was a part of the why they had landed into their hostile state in the first place. There were two points of views about the situation, one which stated Steve being a homophobic asshole and the other stating Tony being a lecherous idiot. Both were right and wrong at the same time, but they were way over that, weren’t they? They were fine now, Shellhead and Winghead, the strangest best buddies ever existing. Right?

Yes. And then he had went and kissed Steve.

Tony had known it was a mistake the moment his lips touched that perfect mouth. He should have backed off, treated it like a joke, but maybe he waited Steve to curse him, to push him back. Maybe they both waited a negative reaction which didn’t come, and then...

What had followed was the best night of Tony’s life. But in the morning it was awkward in a way Tony had felt never before. Steve was experiencing some light gaypanic, or was Tony just expecting him to be that way. And then…

And then Tony remembered all the things he was and all the things Steve was not. Imagined Steve’s face smeared over the tabloid front pages, besides stills from Tony’s leaked sex tapes, headlines telling to the disapproving public how Tony Stark had finally managed to soil their national icon.

Tony wouldn’t care less about other people’s opinions. Most of them were just jealous of him anyway. But Steve would. He would care. And Tony swore he would never let that happen to Steve. That it was the only time Tony let himself flip.

Yeah right. Like he was so good at avoiding temptations anyway.

It became a routine. There was some life-threatening situation. One of them got hurt or almost got hurt. They screamed at each others and then they had sex like rabbits.

And his wishes….

Stupid wishes. He could as well ask the moon from the sky.

The clicking of the heels was the only warning Tony got. Then Pepper Potts, the Vice President of Stark International halted in front him. Tony’s breath got stuck in his lungs. Probably more bad news, just wonderful. He had already tried to track Peter’s phone with a little helper he had maybe put in it for the experiment, but either Peter had found the spy app and removed it, or something horrible had happened.

“Tony, would you please calm down. The boy has your brains. If Peter doesn’t want you to read his private messages, he is perfectly able to prevent that. And for reason”, Pepper said, raising her eyebrow. “Clint and Thor are looking for him. We can’t reach Natasha or Spidey either. Peter was in the lab the last time you saw him?”

“Yes. I brought him a sandwich.” God, the boy was like a weed! Why didn’t he eat? Maybe he had anorexia or bulimia or some other scary eating disorder.

“Tony, stop that. You are starting to be hysterical again. We had been through this some times before already, remember? Peter is not underage anymore, but an adult. If an adult man is a night away from his parent’s home and turns off his phone, what does it tell you?”

Tony ceased his nervous stepping and sat down again. But it was Pete!

“Yes, Tony. It is Peter. Your sensible, clearheaded, and careful son, who has an ability to avoid danger like he would posses a sixth sense. Just remember how it was during the Invasion. He still has gotten from his dad that one particular gene...”

“Are you saying my son is a horndog?”

“You know he most definitively is, and he is dating somebody, he has had his phone glued into his hand when his eyes are not clued into his microscope. It has been going on about two weeks now. If I recall right that is the maximum time Stark men are able to woo the target of their interest before they drag them in the sack.”

But… But. It was Pete. His little boy.

“Peter!”

They had already established that. There was no need for Pepper to yell his son’s name.

Some instinct got Tony to turn his head. Relief flooded over him and he jumped upright again. He started towards his son when he noticed…

What on Earth! What the hell the boy was wearing? Tony himself had made some flashy walks of shame, but that was…

Let’s be honest here. Peter was a bit… Tony had been nerdy in his age too, but he had also possessed lots of that infamous Stark charm which had skipped Peter. He was a cutie pie, no question about it, but he was also so awkward and clumsy sometimes Tony wondered if the paternity test had been tricked. Then he remembered Mary, who had been exactly the same, and wanted to blush in shame. But it could be so annoying! And what if Peter met somebody who would exploit that sweet naivete?

And then his son would end looking like he did there in the corridor, next to Tony. “What… Peter! What happened?”

“No… nothing. I checked my phone and saw the messages. Didn’t think much, just grabbed something.”

No socks or shoes. A too big T-shirt, which looked more like a nigh dress. Some idiotic kitty anime picture on the chest, maybe it really was a night dress. Peter’s girlfriend… Was burlesque a size too? Tony imagined the face of the taxi driver when Peter hopped in the back seat in his costume of choice. His boy was still lying though. Peter was such an awful liar, as bad as Tony himself. Why was he even trying? There were blood stains on his sweats and bruises on his arms. Maybe he would see more of them, if Peter took off the rest of mismatched clothes. Maybe Tony would see wounds? Wasn’t it enough that Steve...

Tony exploded. It was six thirty in the morning, and he hadn’t slept for forty seven hours, which was partly his own fault; there had been that fencing new yoga instructor. All the worry of the past hours weighed on his chest, Fury’s shady explanations how there had been complications, how they had to wait until Steve woke up and the doctors were able to assess the situation. And Peter, somewhere out there, with somebody who didn’t treat him right. Peter out there with somebody dangerous who had pulled his clever son into their web with their words and false affections.

So in there, in the lobby of the medical bay of the SHIELD base Tony Stark put out one of his best and worse speeches as a father. He didn’t hear Pepper’s soothing and finally angry voice when she tried to get him shut his mouth. Forget Pepper. It was Peter who goaded him on. Those big brown eyes, so similar to his own, and that steady stare which dared Tony to say something more, something even more hurtful.

All their enemies. Those nemesis of the Avengers and those ones with a personal vendetta against Tony Stark. He had covered his son against that evil for years, but now he had to think why he hadn’t bothered with the most important precaution? Why hadn’t he thought how to cover his boy from himself?

The insight hit him from nowhere. Maybe it was a word he had used, or a tone of his voice, but it made him realize. He sounded Howard. He had been talking like his own father, and he had swore he would never do that to Peter. He… oh God!

Tony felt like he was going to faint. He wanted to, but those eyes, they were still looking, still waiting. Tony couldn’t help it; he started crying. Big, ugly tears rolled from his eyes, making everything blurry, and a horrible wheezing sound, which was his breathing, filled his ears. If he lost them both in the same night! What would he have done, built them the biggest and the most beautiful mausoleum ever existed, and then scrawled into the whiskey bottle and never came out. No, scratch that! He would have flown into space in his armor and then turned off the life support. The death of the spirit and the death of the body in the same convenient airtight coffin.

Peter… the boy was now standing right in front of him. Maybe Peter was going to hit him? Tony deserved it. He braced himself against impact, but wasn’t still ready when surprisingly strong arms surrounded his body and a head was pushed into the crook of his neck, just like Peter had done when he was still so little Tony could carry him in his arms.

“Love you too dad.” Peter’s voice was silent, private. No hint of sarcasm in it. Tony did what he could, and he hugged him back. Hugged like never wanting to let him go.


	6. Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNING! The chapter includes mentions of torture and sexual abuse when a mind scourge makes Steve relive his wartime memories.

Before proceeding heed the warning in the summary section!

Alright, continue.

Steve was having a war dream. A bad one. Was there any other kind? There would be dying comrades in arms he hadn’t been able to rescue. It wasn’t unusual. Survival’s guilt and PTSD they called it nowadays. Shell shocked or coward would have been his moniker during the war time, if he had gone moaning and whining to any army doctor.

The dream began always in a same way. Steve was rushing towards the bunker when he felt how his feet halted, making him stand in place and watch how the enemy wiped his whole team out with the machine-guns. He stood there, squeezing the satchel charge in his sweaty hand when all around him his fellow soldiers were dying. Steve could still save some of them, all he had to do was to throw the charge inside the bunker through the firing hole, but he couldn’t move even his little finger.

Steve screamed. His rage, his frustration, his fear, he let it all came out with a long banshee wail, and when one of the wayward bullets hit the charge and it blow itself and Steve into the pieces, all he could feel in the last fraction of second of his earthly life, was a relief. It was really over, all of it, nobody was dying on his watch. Never again.

Steve woke up slowly. A terror still lingered, but it was soon replaced by the usual shame. He really was a foul person. A great sinner. Dreaming about suicide any other night.

His mouth was too dry to swallow away the foul taste lingering on his tongue. He tried to reach the water glass from the usual place on his night table, but his hands, they didn’t move. Just like in the dream.

Steve couldn’t help it. Still only half awake he shouted for real. There were soon hasty footsteps and other persons came in the room. Steve wasn’t in his place in Stark Tower, it looked more like… a hospital? Or maybe it was a cell, Steve decided after he had blinked his eyes and started seeing more clearly. There were no windows. There wasn’t any other furniture than his bed, and two armed guards were standing at the door from which a familiar, black-clad figure was entering.

“Sir… What happened?”

The Director of SHIELD didn’t answer. He didn’t need to, Steve was starting to remember. He and Clint had been in Harrowgate. He had been talking to one of the inmates. Then… The man had stabbed him. Steve remembered the pain and pressure in his neck, and then nothing. The wound must have been too severe for his healing factor, they had operated him. He had worn many stitches and knew how they felt. He must have been struggling against the staff in his delirious state, but he was awake and lucid now. Why didn’t Fury order to take those cuffs away?

“We only see two things in people”, Fury said. He was not looking at Steve, but the wall next to his head. He looked tired. “We see what we want to see, and then we also see what they want to show us.”

Fury was usually plain spoken. His cryptic remarks sounded ominous, and a horrible idea came to his mind, maybe something had happen to his team, to his friends, to Tony. Maybe the dream had been a portent. His mother had believed in signs even if she had been a devoted Catholic. Or maybe because of that very reason.

He tried to ask about them from Fury, but Director brushed his words off as if they were annoying flies, good only to be smacked. “I blame myself”, Fury continued. “We should have tested you. A full scale psych evaluation, all the works. But I was too greedy to get you into my team. Captain America, alive. I acted not like your supervisor but like your little fan boy. As if the life hadn’t taught us when something is too good to be true it probably is.”

Steve had focused on Fury and hadn’t notice the other person entering the room. Now he wondered why not, she wasn’t inconspicuous, on the contrary. She was a negro… no, African-American woman. Middle-aged and with a purple colored, plaited hair.

“Please, Director”, she was saying. “It is too early to draw any conclusions. You contacted us that we would investigate.”

“Yes, you do that. But it is obvious to me it will only confirm what we talked earlier.”

Fury had taken a folded paper from his coat pocket and tossed it on Steve’s lap. The lady took it and opened it carefully.

“What is that? What is going on?”

“Captain Rogers”, the woman said, showing his the unfolded paper. “I am Marigold Jones, the chief psychic of SHIELD PSI division. This is a court order to perform a mind scourge. Do you know what that is?”

“I have heard of it”, Steve admitted. “I have also heard it could leave you brain damaged.”

Ms. Jones didn’t try to deny the fact. “That is sometimes a case. Psychic crimes, even in their mildest forms, are taken very seriously, and they are normally charged under the terrorism laws. That means if the person is suspected of such crimes, his individual rights can be diminished. That part of the law doesn’t concern the psychics alone. Acting with a psychic as their avatar or platform can make even a PSI null person an accomplish.”

Avatar? Platform? Steve didn’t even know what those words meant. “But if you do that scourge thing… you are going to watch through my mind, my memories and… stuff.”

“To put that in layman’s terms, yes.”

The gaze he got from Ms. Jones wasn’t without sympathy, but it did little to help Steve’s distress. If they did that scourge thing, they would see Tony. All Steve’s feelings for the man, everything.

“Captain Rogers, when we try to suppress our desires, our very nature, those desires often grew awry, become poisonous. My grannies generation, they were masters of keeping their secrets and wiping their dirt under the rugs.”

She meant his generation. People from Steve’s era. He couldn’t deny that was the truth. But he had already changed that, hadn’t he? When he had come out as a gay man. They had said it was alright now, even if some people still didn’t approve.

“You mean like PTSD?” he asked. About that other thing he really didn’t want to hear the answer. “I admit. I lied to the psychologist. I have seen bad dreams. Nightmares. Sometimes… a lot. But I can go to see her again. You don’t have to do this.”

Maybe they didn’t have to, but they were going to do it anyway. There were sci-fi equipment about which he understood as much as about the blueprints of Tony’s fancy robots. Wires were attached to his body and his head was surrounded with a cage made of metal and plastic. The manacles around his arms gave him a light sting, which had to be loaded with some horse sedative because he was still conscious but everything started feeling soft and hazy.

_Tony. They were going to see everything._

His breathing tried to accelerate, but then the medical bracelets did something again and he felt like he was dropping into the softest of all pillows. A nurse bent over him and put a gum shield into his mouth, pushed his jaw up until he bit his teeth together.

“Captain”, Ms. Jones said gently. “Take a deep breath.”

_Tony._

He couldn’t help it. More he tried not to the think about his friend, more vivid the images became. A golden and red dash shot through the sky. The familiar sound of repulsors and stone was broken, a wall smashed, a villain fell. They were in the battlefield together, Winghead and his Shellhead, moving like one person, watching each other’s backs. Steve hoped he could stay forever in that moment, but he was rushed forward. There were meetings, the Avengers going through their tactics, Tony being an ass, Steve rising to his baiting. Tony and Steve changing heated words and then later even more heated kisses when they made up in Tony’s workshop couch.

Steve felt her looking at them. Looking at him. Feeling his plethora of feelings towards that impossible, wonderful man, and then, as soon as it had begun, it was over, leaving him cold and empty.

“What… was that it?” he whispered, still shaken up from the sudden burst of everything.

Ms. Jones shook her head. “That was a test wipe.”

A test, not a real thing, and even that left Steve feeling like his soul had been hoovered. He closed his eyes and forced his breathing to calm down. Ms. Jones was writing with her laptop. When Steve looked at her again, Fury was bending over her shoulder, reading something which made him pucker his lips in distaste.

“So he is playing patty cake with Stark? That one could drive a saint crazy.”

Steve didn’t know if Fury meant Tony or the situation overall, when he felt that pressure again. Somebody else in his mind, stepping around like a sniffing dog, trying to find a scent of a game trail.

There were memories. Things he had long forgotten, the smudges on his mother’s apron after the baking day, the feel of a coarse floorboard under his bare foot, the tickling sensation on his cheek, when a runaway duff of hair from her bun touched his skin.

Steve tried to linger in those places, but the dog wasn’t interested in his happy moments, it was like the animal was looking something specific. There was that pain again when Steve suffered through the stages of the Project Rebirth, rushing towards to the horrors of the battlefield, but the dog wasn’t interested in those either, dwelling only for seconds in the cockpit of the airplane where Steve was hanging on his seat his body broken and paralyzed, his healing factor trying to repair his injuries but founding no building blocks, only cold, foul-tasting seawater. There was that claustrophobic horror of suffocating which still haunted him any time he was in the flying vehicle over the open water. _Capsicle_ , Tony had called him, and was then surprised Steve hadn’t appreciated his little joke.

He knew now what the animal was looking for and he waited in a desperate fear, when it reached the door Steve had built to be sturdy, patted so diligently the door didn’t leak even into his dreams. The dog whined and scratched the wood with its paw, and then its mistress was there, a merciless goddess, an avenging Artemis who had inspired his mind so much when he was a boy and reading his only art history book over and over again.

“No, please”, Steve asked even if he knew it was in vain. “There is nothing. It is all past. Please, please, let it be.”

The dream, his regular nightmare, had been a whisper, a tender gust of wind. This one was a roaring storm of fire. Steve was again tied up and in the middle of the Hydra soldiers. They were pushing him, hitting his body with the butts of their rifles, and he collapsed on the stone floor, naked and his limbs shaking with cold and pain. The soldiers were laughing and joking. Steve felt something warm run along his face and realized they were urinating on him, but that was still far from the worst, wasn’t it? Everything they did to him, the torture, the wounds and broken bones, their shameful penetration into his body, that was nothing, before the serum he had been in a constant pain, that pain was easy to endure, it was like an old friend of his. But that other pain, the pain of the other people. That broke him every time.

Expect that one time… He had been unbreakable, and he was still paying the price of that decision. But what had been the other option? If he had broken down and answered their questions, not that he knew so much, he wasn’t a general, he was in the field, who would be stupid enough to give details of the military operations to the soldier who could be captured by the enemy? No, he didn’t know much, but he knew if his tiny knowledge was a confirmation they were looking for, a missing piece they had been after, Steve blabbering his mouth would cost thousands and thousands of lives, soldiers and civilians alike, in the worst case, it would turn the tide of war, or make it longer.

So Steve kept his mouth shut and watched in numb horror as they did to their captives what they had already done to him, watched when women were broken and mutilated until death was not an enemy but a welcomed relief, watched children’s heads hitting against the stone walls, heard Red Skull’s hated voice in his ringing ears. How this was Steve’s own fault. How he had a power to stop it all with a single word.

He wasn’t able to talk, even if had wanted to, not anymore. He howled like a wounded animal he was, he screamed in his mind and was already doing it for real when they pulled him back to the world. The barrier he had built so carefully between himself and those memories, the lock was now broken and the door stood ajar, ready to be flung open by the lightest touch. He wasn’t sure what he did or said after that. Maybe he didn’t do much. There were those manacles keeping him in the bed, but he certainly said some stupid things. That he knew, but couldn’t help himself.

“I want my ma”, he cried. “Where is Bucky? Bucky, please. Help me.”

But his mother was dead. Bucky was not exactly dead, but not the boy he remembered. Not his best friend anymore. He was in Wakanda with Tony’s friends, trying to heal from the things Hydra had done to him. What they had made Bucky do to others.

“I w-want to go home.”

But there was no home. Home was gone. People he had loved were long dead and taken his home, his heart with them.

“Tony, Tony p-please.”

But Tony didn’t, he didn’t care about him that way. Not like his ma or Bucky had loved him, Tony wasn’t like that. He didn’t know what Tony was besides his friend, but Tony wasn’t like that and Steve was pathetic to hope that he ever would be.


	7. Peter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter is forced to play a muffin-baking amour when Steve is hurt by the mind scourge and Tony is hesitant to be seen too much in the company of his “secret” lover.

The Avengers waited. Their last update about Steve’s condition had been hours ago, and even the most patients of them were getting antsy. Thor had gone to search them some snacks, and Clint paced a nervous circle around the lobby. The archer had confirmed Natasha was on the mission. She wasn’t coming, and Peter had gotten Pepper to leave with Happy, so now there was only Janet who could help him with Tony. Peter sat with his dad who was drinking decaffeinated coffee and not moaning about the fact, and that told everyone who knew Tony Stark something was seriously wrong.

Peter’s phone chimed. It was Fury who asked him to come to the restroom. Peter’s mind filled with annoyed glee, when he thought what load of dirty jokes Wade would have twisted from that short message. His musings were totally inappropriate, of course, the situation was deadly serious, why else would Fury want to meet him alone? Why not to talk to the others at the same time? Peter hoped it wasn’t because something bad had happened to Steve. Even if he wasn’t as emotional as his father, a trait he had inherited from his mother’s side, he still felt a slump in his throat as he tried to imagine Steve dead. The image was impossible, Captain America, he had existed always. What it would meant to their nation if he didn’t? What it would mean to his family? To his dad?

Steve and his dad. Not just best mates, but… you know. Changing smooches. That had to be the worst kept secret affair in the history of costumed superheroing.

“I have to go to the bathroom… then I… I will walk a bit.”

“What?” Tony had seemed to be deep in his own thoughts, but now his whole attention crashed on Peter. “You can’t just… Don’t leave! Steve needs you!”

“Just for a while”, Peter said, padding his dad’s shoulder. “Janet will keep you company and Thor will come soon with the food. Try to eat something, dad. I will be back.”

Peter sneaked away while Tony was protesting. He heard Janet’s calming voice, then he was around the corner and in the right corridor. Fury indeed waited him in the restroom, sitting on the turned down toilet seat. He looked tired… no, he looked like a man who had run long and fast but getting finally caught up by all the mistakes he had left behind.

“What happened? Why are you... Is Steve dead?”

Maybe that was it. Nicholas Fury, the fearless leader of the SHIELD was hiding in the restroom stall, expecting Peter to do his dirty work for him, to shoulder all the sorrow and anger the Avengers would feel during the demise of their most beloved teammate.

Fury was the only one who was aware of Peter Stark’s arachnid alter ego. Peter had know from the beginning he needed Fury’s blessing, being a vigilante like Daredevil wasn’t an option for him. To his astonishment, Fury hadn’t needed that much persuasion. Maybe the guy thought it was hilarious to know something about younger Stark what Tony didn’t.

Fury was shaking his head. Peter hoped it was an answer to his question, because he didn’t have time to ask anything more before Fury rushed pass him to the door. Peter was a nervous wreck when they continued along the corridor. They didn’t turn to the direction of the medical wing, but took an elevator, riding to the sub levels. In this part of the base there wasn’t anything more than cells. They hadn’t put Steve in one of those, had they?

“Fury, what is going on?” he asked, when they finally halted in front of an anonymous metal door. The door was ajar and a person was entering the corridor. Not only that, but…

“Doctor Stark”, the chief of the PSI department said. She put her hand down after it was certain Peter wouldn’t shake it. “I am Marigold Jones. I am…”

“I know who you are, lady.” Peter had also seen a glimpse of the equipment which was still standing beside the bed, all the measuring devises and the tell-tale helmet SI and Tony had designed with Charles Xavier. The bed and the man lying in it, his face hidden by the blankets, that big body in an odd angle, like wanting to curl up, trying to hide, make itself smaller. “What is this? You put Steve through a mind scourge. Why? And by who’s authority?”

In the end of his sentences, Peter’s voice was only an angry hiss. “We were told that he was stabbed. Why the hurry? What was so…”

“It was a court order.”

“What was the charge?”

“It was a priority call of the Special Victims Quad. He was suspected to be a part of a pedophile ring. It would have looked really bad if the SHIELD had refused to co-operate with the investigation.”

Peter let out a hysterical snort. Steve hurting children? Sometimes he wondered if Fury was replaced by a Skrull duplicate, because some of his decisions weren’t from the planet Earth.

“You suspected Steve is a pedophile”, he managed, after his mind had decided it wasn’t appropriate to start giggling after all.

“Come on, Peter. He is from the 40s. Until the last six months he was a closet deviant. It is only logical to assume he didn’t come out readily as a gay man. He could have been lied. It could be he did it just to hide something bad.”

That was so much bullshit! Peter had seen the search history of Steve’s computer. All those pages Steve had read about sexuality hadn’t contained even an ouch of child porn. Themes varied from the biological, social, and religious aspects of homosexuality to the actual tips how to practice gay sex. Everything told Peter Steve’s coming out hadn’t been a whim but a heavily weighted decision, which went against everything he had been taught about how a man should behave and be. And now Fury had underlined the fact by acting like Steve was some sort of abomination before even proven guilty of a crime.

“If that was your only reason to put him through...”

“No, of course not. I will discuss about my reasons with you and the team, including Steve, when he is better. Until then...”

And now he was going to run and leave Peter to sort out his mess? Tough shit, Fury. That was not the way this thing would unravel. “You are more hostile than is typical for you. You asked me here. And now you are in the mess and you expect me to handle this. As a member of the family.”

“He is crying out for his mother”, Ms. Jones said gently.

Fury gritted his teeth. Nodded towards Ms. Jones and lowered his voice while addressing Peter again. “She is a psychic, Peter. She knows about… the other you. Cap needs somebody who can outmatch him if he is feeling too restless.”

Ms. Jones nodded to confirm the notion. “The Scourge will bring to the surface also those memories person has tried consciously or unconsciously suppress. That can be very unpleasant. He will be confused for a few days. We could keep him sedated in the med bay, but being in his own room, surrounded by the people he trusts, would made him feel safe and might fasten his recovery.”

And it might fasten the reveal of Peter’s secret identity. Had anyone thought about that?

Peter was about to bark his notion to Fury, but then the gravity of the situation really opened in his mind. There was his secret, but that was going to be revealed someday anyway. On the other hand, it was Steve. His confused big brother flash step-dad. How could he say no?

Peter gagged after entering the room. He had gotten a sniff of the reek while he had waited in the corridor, so he should have known what to expect. There was a nurse, wiping the equipment. Why didn’t she take such a care of Steve? Her superiors had probably told her not to take away the restrainers. Steve could strike a horse unconscious with his bare fist. A fragile human skull would broke like an eggshell. If something happened, Steve would be very depressed after he woke up and realized what he had done.

It was a real cell. There was a tiny bathroom, where Peter filled a disposable paper cup and doused a wipe with the cold water. Steve’s eyes opened when Peter cleaned his lips and jaw from the vomit.

“P-Peter.”

Steve sounded amazed. As if he had been so tightly in his own scary head world that seeing a real human being should be called a miracle.

“Hey, big guy. How do you feel?”

Steve’s chuckle sounded more like a sob. “Fine. Dandy.”

“You have to work up that sarcasm, Steve. If I take those cuffs off, will you clock me one?”

Steve shook his head. Peter had gotten a key from the nurse, and he started with Steve’s feet. The padding had prevented actual chafes to occur, but there were some dark bruises in his wrists too, as if he had been through a heavy duty bonding session. Luckily his stupid tongue kept itself behind his teeth and he didn’t say that one aloud, when Steve wobbled in the shower. His sweats were soiled as was the bed. What kind of horror made Captain America shit himself? A stupid question, Peter knew. The guy was a veteran. He had plenty of bad memories from where to choose. The nurse started to undress the bed, taking the sheets into the laundry bag. Or maybe they were going to the furnace.

She came back with some fresh clothes before Steve came from the shower. He was wearing a towel and a sheepish smile while he nodded his thanks. “Miss, sorry about the mess.”

Peter felt a strong urge to roll his eyes, but he hated the infantile gesture. It was more from his dad’s repertoire anyway.

“I am not sure I can support you”, Peter said. Nerdy science brats didn’t half-carry 240 lb super soldiers. Moving around was taking its toll and Steve was more wobbly than before. “We may ask Uncle Thor to come here and help you, but then we have to explain.”

Steve had sat on the bed and was shaking his head.

“I agree. I don’t think it’s good idea to tell them about this right away.” Tony would be difficult, in a lack of better word, and Steve would do better if he were in full health for that shitshow. Let Fury took the brunt of the team’s anger without any preparations.

“We just pretend this is the surgery taking its toll. That fits, Ms. Jones said your nausea and dizziness will last a few days. If you can walk to the elevator? We can manage it somehow from there.”

If Steve was something it was persistent. They got to the elevator and Peter helped him to lean on the wall.

“How come you never call me uncle anymore?”

The question came out of blue. The elevator binged the right floor before Peter came up with an answer. “Don’t you think it would be weird?”

“How is that?”

Yeah, right. Let’s play stupid then. Let’s pretend Tony Stark was not rushing towards Steve like a middle-aged gazelle. He certainly didn’t hug his team leader very long and very tightly. There were no kisses on Steve’s cheek Tony didn’t even notice he was giving. Steve was so red Peter thought his face was going to burst in flames. He was also having difficulties to stay upright, but then there was Thor, who lifted Steve in the bridal carry.

“I can walk”, Steve lied, his skin trying to combust itself.

“Nonsense, brother Captain. Man of Iron carries you like this all the time!”

“When we fly”, Steve mumbled. Poor bastard. But it was not so long a journey, and Steve was unrecognizable in the standard SHIELD uniform Fury had ordered for him. Under harsh fluorescent lights everyone could see a fatigue which lingered around his eyes and mouth, making the super solider look like a human-shaped dish rag, wrung out and hanged to dry.

It was a relief to finally sat in the car, on a way home. Peter kept shotgun besides Happy and let Tony and Steve take the back seat for themselves, and before the car left the garage, Steve was fast asleep, his head in Tony’s lap.

They were too adorable. Like some overly cute manga bunnies. Peter decided to enjoy the sweet and quiet, because he knew it wouldn’t take long when a certain king of the overthinkers would fix himself neck deep into his usual jam. That time came as soon as they had gotten Steve to his own room. Steve’s head had hardly hit the pillow, when Tony was escaping the scene, mumbling he had some thing he absolutely had to do in his workshop.

“Dad!” Peter shout whispered after him, but Tony was already in the lobby, going to the elevator.

Peter hesitated at the door. Steve’s eyes were closed, but he was only pretending to sleep. God only knew what he thought about Tony’s cowardly performance. Peter could always ask for Thor… Except he couldn’t. A high school jealousy drama was the last thing they needed right now. Thor sitting at the breakfast table, hopelessly clueless why Tony was burning his pancakes and spitting into his orange juice… no, no, no!

Peter pushed the door close behind him and leaned on it. He had always liked Steve’s room. It was like something from an old movie. Not only the furniture, which was pure vintage. Steve had a plywood turntable and radio combo he couldn’t have afforded when it was anew; Tony had hunted it for him from eBay. In his bookcase stood his favorite novels and a massive collection of old LP records which the Avengers still bought him occasionally. Steve appreciated their efforts, even if the music made him stare to the nothingness with a melancholy smile on his lips. No misty eyes, not in public anyway. What happened in the silence of his room was another matter. Maybe Steve thought Peter had already left. Steve’s shoulders were trembling and he pushed his face deep in the pillow. No sound escaped from his lips, but it was obvious what he was doing.

“I am sorry. I can’t help it”, Steve said when Peter had stood there some five minutes, pondering what he should do. “My head. Everything feel so… I… I don’t want to spoil your birthday p-party.”

“Uncle Steve”, Peter sighed. “There is no party. I especially said to dad: no party! That one last year, I am still recovering.”

What was with Tony Stark and cakes? And robot strippers? Jesus!

“Alright… But please, don’t tell Tony what a mess I am. I don’t want...”

“Are you afraid he will be an asshole?” Tony could be, but never against Peter or Steve. Or maybe a bit against Steve, but not recently. And not when it mattered. Not like this.

“No, I just…” Steve made an effort to sit up and wipe his eyes. The first one was a success but the second, not so much. “How would I explain...”

“Uh… how by talking?”

Steve gave him a tired smirk. “Peter, he has probably told you how he grew up looking up at my posters. This is not a nice picture I am making right now. I… I can’t...”

Steve didn’t live up Tony’s expectations? That was a new one. Peter had never thought about Steve’s role that way. Why did Steve talk about himself like he ate puppies for breakfast when a guy he tried to woo was Tony Stark?

The things had been hectic after Steve came out of the closet. The press and public had gotten a brand new block in their Avengers relationship games and wild speculations started. There had been some old photos about Thor’s arm around Steve’s shoulders which was a normal situation for them; the alien prince was as handsy with everybody, but purely brotherly way.

When asked, Thor had given statement he would be honored to be Captain America’s shieldmate (as he called it) which was suitable vague to satisfy hungry speculations for another week or so. Then there was of course Tony, but… Meme material, that one. Tony laughing and telling the media how he and Steve were just best mates, while kissing some underwear model whose name he didn’t get right even on the third attempt.

Peter had seen Steve’s face when he watched the newsflash. (The piece was impossible to miss, they rolled it over and over, probably because of the indecent bulge in Tony’s company’s pants.) Steve’s expression could have been used as a model picture how to draw a heartbroken man, but the leader of the Avengers had rallied as usual. After the incident Peter thought for a long time Steve had ditched his dad’s wandering dick, but would they ever be that lucky.

Peter knew it couldn’t be helped. He should turn on his science brain and handle this idiocy like any scientific problem, the situation was too annoying to be dealt with otherwise. Was it really as impossible to his dad to be monogamous as it was for Steve to be in an open relationship? Or was there some other pieces of the puzzle he didn’t know, which turned this equation upside down?

The next two days Peter shared his time with Steve and the lab and the messaging with Wade. Steve was holed in his room and his bed, and Peter made sure he ate. They talked about nothing in particular and also some novel Steve had read before his SHIELD licensed torture session. Peter didn’t usually read fiction, but he found Steve’s way of telling about the story fascinating. If there hadn’t been war… if Steve hadn’t been poor, he could have studied literature or maybe art and be a great lecturer.

Tony must have thought that also. Why else would he have followed Peter like a ghost or like a scared little kitten, almost brave enough to let somebody pet him. Peter was starting to be very annoyed with his dad’s way to be with Steve through him, so when he felt Tony’s presence besides him in the lab, he let him sweat.

“Well… how was Steve?”

God what idiots! Both of them.

“Dad, why don’t you go and see yourself? I am busy.”

“Yes, I can see that. What are you doing, son? With our millionzillion dollar equipment… is that some kind of pus?”

“No, it is actual pus. I can’t believe you said millionzillion.”

It was like a child’s guessing game. Tony asked and Peter gave up as little as possible.

“But what are you doing with that?”

“This moment, I am testing the bacteria amount.”

“What for?”

“To make it as small as possible.”

“But why are you...”

And so on. After some time Peter got bored and told Tony he was trying to develop a protective grease.

“Oh, that’s a novel way to look at it. Human components.”

“It’s not for your robot joints, dad. Spider-Man asked after it. He knows some guy who has problems with his epidermis.”

Tony froze his mouth half-way open. Peter let a giggle tickle only his insides. This was going to be too fun.

“That pus… your samples. Spider-Man gave them to you?”

“Yes, as I said.”

“Do you… do you know from who...”

“I don’t know why that is essential, but if it gets you off my back the dossier is in the left drawer.”

Peter followed from the corner of his eye how Tony quickly browsed the papers, then dropped them on the table like waiting them to bite his fingers. “Wade Wilson”, he yelped. “What the ever-loving… You are using my company’s time and money to make moisturizing for Deadpool!”

“Yes, Spider-Man told me he is in pain. He will need something more efficient than normal drugstore stuff. Sterilizing agent. If his skin didn’t go septic so easily, it would prevent any further difficulties and less the pain.”

That made Tony halt the rant Peter knew was coming. “Pain?”

“Didn’t you know? I thought the Avengers team-up with the guy.”

Oh he was bad. A bad son. Who hoped he could take video about Tony’s expressions. No poker face, that was his dad. And Tony knew personally what being in a constant pain could do to a person.

“I didn’t realize he was…” Tony hesitated. “That is really thoughtful of you, Pete.”

“Yeah, I am a regular Florence Nightingale”, Peter mumbled, but Tony was already hugging him.

“You are so good, Pete”, Tony mumbled, leaving light, wet kisses on his neck. “I am so very, very lucky to have you as a son.”

Now his dad was making him feel guilty. “Why don’t you go to Steve, dad. He is bored of Thor’s hunting tales, but too polite to say anything. You could tell him about that new interface you are coding. I am little busy here, and you have to take care of your teammates, right?”

“Yes.” Tony sounded thoughtful. “That’s right. A teammate… we are teammates. And Thor...”

“Boring.”

“Right. It’s not fair to let Steve suffer through Thor.”

“You should bring him something, maybe cupcakes? I made some this morning, if Clint hasn’t eaten them all.”

“Were they citrus? Or chocolate?”

“Both.”

“So you test Deadpool’s puss and we eat cupcakes? That was your plan?”

“Yep.”

“A great plan. Will I bring you some?”

“I am good.”

“Because you got pus.”

“You like the word pus, dad? Is that because it is almost the same as some female feline? How old are you again? Ten?”

But Tony didn’t hear, he was already at the door. _Ten point to Slytherins_ , Peter thought, hiding his grin by turning back to his computer.


	8. Herman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If putting Steve through the mind scourge was bad, the investigators have something even grimmer planned for Herman Schultz aka the Shocker.
> 
> WARNING! The chapter contains a fade-to-black scene of a child being abused sexually.

Before proceeding heed the warning in the summary section!

Alright, continue.

It was the strangest feeling, Herman thought. He had read about sensory deprivation tanks, and this felt something like that. For some reason it was impossible to say was he sitting or lying or standing, so maybe he indeed was flowing in one of those tanks, not feeling anything. No touch, no smell, no taste. No sound. Nothing to see but darkness. Or maybe not even that. Could brightness be so limpid it eluded the color receptors of his eyes and become dark again?

There was this woman, or at least Herman thought she was a woman. He didn’t see her features and her voice sounded to come from under the water, actually he heard it in his mind more than he heard it, if that made any sense. _You tried to kill Captain America_ , the woman said. _Do you remember how you did it? Why did you_ _do_ _i_ _t?_

Why indeed.

What Herman meant: Captain America. Better men than Herman… No, that was a stupid way to say it. Better villain than Herman had tried to kill dear Captain, and they hadn’t succeeded. Not in the war. Not now.

Why indeed.

Was Captain America a piggy bank? Because that was what Herman was after. Money. If Captain America was not a piggy bank, his trunks had no silver lining, his teeth not made of gold, then Herman had no interest in Captain America. Or any other superpowered individual ever existing.

 _This is about the money then_ , the voice said. _Is that what you are saying?_ _There is no revenge plan against Captain America or_ _the_ _ideals he represents? Your interest lies purely in money._

Yes, that sounded right. He tried to nod, but he didn’t know if his head was moving or not. That was confusing.

 _Very well_ , the voice said then. _We can talk about that. How much money did you get_ _when they used_ _you as their platform?_

Now he was confused again.

 _Those_ _images_ _in your head_ , the voice said. _You_ _are providing_ _the environment in which_ _those constructed memories_ _are_ _executed._ _That ensemble is called a platform._

“Memories?”

_Do you claim you don’t know what I am talking about?_

Yes, probably that was what Herman was claiming.

_You are claiming you have no idea how that illegal material appeared into your head?_

Illegal… wait a minute! If something was illegal that would be a violation of the rules of his rehabilitation program. He would be kicked out of the program and then his release day would be removed.

The thought made him agitated, which in turn made the invisible woman satisfied for some reason.

 _Mr. Schultz, this will work much better, if we both are honest_ _with_ _each others. Your mind is used as a platform to execute and storage illegal material, in this case, violent pornographic images which include minors._ _We need to know with who you are_ _co-operating_ _and for what purpose. May I_ _re_ _mind you, Mr. Schultz, that possessing that kind of material is a severe crime and all the plans to distribute that said material_ _to_ _the third parties are also prohibited by the state law._ _If you_ _are ready to_ _testify against_ _your partners, the district attorney may consider showing some good will. But in crimes of this severe nature a no-prison deal is off the table. Our offer will start from ten to fifteen years._

Ten to fift… What!

_Yes, Mr. Schultz?_

Everything halted. The life stopped and waited holding its breath. What was the right question, to which the answer wouldn’t be those awful numbers?

“Please, I… I have no idea what you are talking about. Or I mean, of course I know what child pornography is. I have been in prison with the guys who had been accused about something like that, but I have never…”

Of course he blew it.

_Mr. Schultz, that material is in your head. There are forty eight detailed, well-adjusted scenarios. Their construction would take a psychic weeks of hard work. You have however been in prison this whole time. That can only mean someone or someones of the staff are involved. We will start with you providing us their names._

That was an oddly precise number.

_There are forty eight, we call them mediclips, because psychic healers use them to tame unsavory memories. They can be used to let those memories spill through to the conscience in a controlled way which helps the patient analyze his or her situation. These clips, however. They have been done by somebody who didn’t care much about your well-being, Mr. Schultz. They are tied in a way that will permanently damage your mind and leave your emotionally numb if clips are not redone. As you see Mr. Schultz, even if this is a matter of professional pride, that act alone should tell you, loud and clear, you own them no loyalty. You are not a snitch, if you tell us who did this dangerous thing to you._

There was nothing much to say to that. Nothing to say, Herman still had no idea what was going on, and it was getting harder and harder to think. It was like his brains had been cotton candy dipped into a bowl of maple syrup.

 _Very well,_ the other voice said after a while. _When you feel you are_ _ready to talk with us, just let us_ _k_ _now._

Then a strange thing happened. There was a familiar sound, he took some time to identify it, but it was like milk poured over cereals, that faint popping and hissing. When it ended everything was normal and clear again. He was normal again, he felt things, a spoon in his fingers, milk on his tongue. He was sitting at the table in their family home. There was the window with its hideous curtains, the white walls, which his mother painted every other year to make them stay that way. Layers and layers of paint and his fingerprints and grease from the stove. There was something wrong with his hands, they were so small, and some vague part of his brain wondered how it was possible. The flash of worry was too weak to stay, and he started to search the cereal package. There was no toy inside, and he turned to ask his ma if she had taken it already, afraid he would choke himself with it.

But it wasn’t his ma, it was…

It was Captain America.

“No way!” Herman exclaimed and some of milk gushed from the corner of his mouth. He swallowed to empty his mouth and wiped his lips and cheek with the back of his hand. Captain America didn’t rebuke him about not using the napkin. He was just taking from the fridge an enormous cake which he lowered on the table. Eight candles, that couldn’t be right… but the thought vanished as fast as those previous doubts, when Captain winked at him. Captain winked at him! Then he smiled and said:

_Happy birthday, Herman._

“No way”, he repeated, laughing in delight. “Are you really here?”

_Of course. What do I look like? Red Skull? Yes, Herman. What is it?_

Captain America, who was an all-knowing, all-seeing superhero of the nation, had noticed his embarrassment. His name. It was so stupid. And it was German. Maybe Captain America would think he was a Nazi too?

_I would never think such a thing. I know you are a dutiful, obedient lad. Herman is a good name, by the way. A strong name. It means a soldier._

That made Herman’s mood lighten immediately. “Really? Like you? I am a soldier just like you?”

_Yes, just like me._

Captain pushed his hands into Herman’s armpits and lifted him into his lap. It was like Santa Claus, but better. The best birthday ever. How come he was still so nervous? Captain was now cutting the cake, and he cut so big a slice Herman couldn’t believe his eyes! The dessert looked so good his mouth watered when he waited to taste it.

He was not a baby. Eight candles, said the cake. He was too old to sit in anybody’s lap and he stood that Captain wouldn’t think less of him. He was a soldier, Captain had said so a moment ago. He stood and turned around until he stood between Captain’s legs, a table pushing against his back.

 _Yes_ , Captain mumbled, like talking to himself. _A big,_ _brave_ _soldier boy you are. Open wide, here comes the airplane._

He could eat himself, he wanted to say, when spoon was pushed inside his mouth. Except it wasn’t a spoon, exactly. It was too big and it hurt his mouth, even if it didn’t feel like metal, plastic or any other hard material. His lips were stretched too wide, and he wanted to ask Captain to stop but his mouth and throat were full. He felt like suffocating.

A wail started somewhere deep in his soul. The comics he had read, his favorite poster on the wall, somehow he knew this moment had ruined them for him forever. Captain America was a hero. He was not supposed to hurt little kids. Why did he made Herman an exception?

But of course he knew.

Herman wasn’t innocent. He was a villain just like Red Skull in Captain’s war time adventures. He deserved this. This was his part in the story, to be on his knees on the floor, begging for mercy.

Then he was an adult again. There was no kitchen, no Captain, only that place which was not a place.

He wanted to spit. He couldn’t spit.

Maybe he was dead. He was dead and now he was in hell. He wanted to cry. There were no tears. Instead he felt other presence again and tried to curl, to hide, make himself tiny and invisible.

A woman again, but not the same one. This one felt more fluffy, more… not so sharp. Not so hostile.

“Heathy?”

_No, I am sorry. I am not your sister. My name is Marigold, Marigold Jones. Our deepest apologizes, Mr. Schultz, but we had to be sure._

“What… be sure of what?” he laughed without sound. He cried without tears. “W-What is this? What is this shit… why… Why is this happening? What is going on?”

_Mr. Schultz, I regret I have to tell you that you have been used as a platform by the psychic traffickers. Are you familiar with a concept?_

He had read something about the matter, but in prison, there was no wide range of newspapers, usually only those free ones. They got internet access only for work and education purposes.

 _The method was invented for medical_ _use_ _a few years before your were send to Harrowgate._ _After that_ _the criminals have invented other uses for it._ _A light psychic scan couldn’t show us which one of the avatars you are,_ _the_ _Captain or_ _the_ _Boy._

“Avatars”, he realized. “I am an avatar, in my own head? But how...”

 _T_ _he usual method_ _of those_ _traffickers_ _is_ _to_ _seek someone to carry the_ _illegal_ _material_ _. They could_ _offer_ _money or drugs or as in your case, they just snatch somebody, plant the images, mediclip them, and wipe_ _out_ _the person’s short time memory of the procedure. Because platforms_ _and their carriers_ _are designed to be disposable, the psychic planting the images doesn’t need to be careful. Usually a victim will suffer at least from severe memory loss and depression. He will also regress rapidly if image storage is large or well-used. I have talked with your therapist, Mr. Schultz, and she ha_ _s_ _told me you have been very withdrawn these last couple of weeks._

“It felt like… I remember that birthday for real. Like… So… they made me an avatar of that little boy… so they could use my actual feelings? Every time that… image starts, I have to live it again? I just don’t remember I have done it before? That it is not real?”

 _Yes_.

“But… what’s the use? They are in my head… How do they...”

_There is technology… it’s called streaming, of all things. That device and trigger words can connect the platform and the subscriber, as they call themselves._

“Captain...”

_In this scenario, yes. The subscriber used the image of Captain America as his avatar._

“Oh… tell what. It would have been really stupid, if that policewoman would have thought the real Captain America was that subscriber person.”

 _Yes, real_ _stupid_ , the voice mumbled. _About Captain… do you remember how you met him in_ _the_ _prison?_

Herman didn’t.

_Now I have to ask you to stay calm, even if the next information may be shocking to you._

More shocking than all this? Perhaps it was lucky Herman felt as numb as he felt. “What is it?”

_You stabbed Captain America._

Herman didn’t see how it would be a problem. “Yeah… Well, I think he kind of deserved it. Hopefully he felt it where ever he was.” The pervert.

_No, Mr. Schultz you don’t understand. You stabbed the real Captain America._

He really was numb. He should be in panic right now. Maybe he was giving up. Assault with a deadly weapon. With his record minimum started with some fifteen years. Against the national icon. He should be glad they didn’t lose the key completely.

“That would have been quite a merit in my CV some five years ago.”

_I trust your words of it, Mr. Schultz._

“You said stabbed, not killed. So… He… he didn’t die?”

 _No_.

“Good. That is good. I don’t remember it, but could you… could you apologize for me?”

_Yes, I can do that, and you can do it yourself also, if you want. After we have treated you._

There would be some treatment available? “What… What will you do? Those mediclips… Can you take those images away?”

_We will try, but it is not easy. They are tightly tied to your emotional responses and after the images are used over and over again connections have become very strong. You see, Mr. Schultz, streaming images is highly addictive, which is only one reason why it is illegal. The other reason, you are living it, Mr. Schultz. We are very sorry, but it is highly possible that we are not able to remove all the images. We can only alter them to be less severe._

“But...”

_The other option would be you have to live your live emotionally null and even if it may now seem like a tempting choice, in reality a suicide rate of this option is way over 87 percent. I wouldn’t recommend it for anybody, and in your condition, it would not be allowed, anyway._

“What will you do then?”

_In this faculty we have a team of experienced psychic healers. What we do next is we will open those mediclips and tie them again in a different way. We will let one or two of them to leak slowly, to give your mind time to adjust. When the tie had come loose enough, we will severe it complete and remove the image._

Rinse and repeat? Forty-eight times? In other words, he just had to get used to the feeling his childhood idol was molesting him?

“How long...”

_With so many tightly tied clips… even if we put you through our most efficient psychic therapy program… minimum time is three years. Probably a way longer._

Three years. Look at that. He had gotten a new sentence.

_Mr. Schultz, do we have your permission to proceed?_

You will start right away?

_Sooner the better. Your mind will only deteriorate faster from this point. It is possible in a few days you will be in a vegetative state, if something is not done immediately._

He nodded his head. Thought about nodding.

_We need your confirmation, Mr. Schultz._

“Alright.”

_We try to work as fast as possible. You will be psychically sedated, but you will still feel discomfort._

That was to put it lightly.

If he had to describe it later, Herman always said it had been like flies, walking with their tiny, itching feet on his brain. And then somebody had come and tried to wipe those flies away with a metal brush. But that wasn’t enough to remove the itch. It continued and continued until Herman was ready to take a spoon and gouge his brains out of his skull like a person eating beans from the can.

He felt hollow, he would have said. Like he was only a skin which was adjusted over a human-shaped mannequin.

The real world. It didn’t feel tangible anymore. He had to touch everything to know it was really there. And could he be sure even then?

There was this older lady. Marigold. She was showing him some pictures from her tablet. He didn’t understand the purpose. The pictures were from the comic books and newspapers. Superheroes. Or maybe one hero particular. The fake flag, as his pa had called him.

“Could you tell me if you feel any discomfort by looking at these pictures. With scale from zero to ten, where zero is none, how much in discomfort are you right now?”

He shook his head. “Zero. Why are you showing me my old comic books?”

“We are testing how your new clips are holding. They seem to work splendidly… Now, Mr. Schultz, you will soon probably feel anxiety or even fear, but try to stay calm, those feeling are totally normal. I will release your full memory capacity right about now… How are you feeling, Mr. Schultz?”

How was he… like somebody had just hit his head with a big hammer.

Marigold showed those pictures again. Now he was… He didn’t know why but he was starting to feel uncomfortable. It was like meeting his high school bully in the street; you heart started beating faster, as you wanted confrontation and at the same time you wanted to avoid it.

“Yes, Mr. Schultz. How would you describe your discomfort now? From zero to ten?”

“I think… two, perhaps?”

Marigold tapped her tablet for a while. Then she put it on the bed next to Helmut and reached forward with her hands. Helmut wasn’t overly touchy-feely person, but he put his palms against hers eagerly.

“Now I am going to give you a trigger word. That is a word which will give you or the person of your choosing an access to the mediclips. They will be triggered one at the time until your emotional responses are severed from the images and back to the normal level. Our goal is that you will feel towards those images like they are just pictures or videos of strange persons you accidentally see in the Internet. The trigger word I will give you is not normally met in the everyday conversation. It is as I said to use only by you and your chosen therapist or reliable friend.”

“Alright.”

“Do you understand, what will happen when I say the word?”

“Yes.”

“Xanthophyll.”

It was the birthday party again. White walls, ugly curtains. Captain America in his mother’s kitchen.

“You are doing well, Mr. Schultz.”

Herman gritted his teeth. “How… how do you know?”

“I am a psychic, I can feel it.”

“Why… why does everything feel so muted?”

“Clip is tight. It will loosen automatically in response to your emotional reactions, or your therapist can loosen it faster if the need arises. Now this is a basic level. Your emotional response is 0.7 in the Grey scale.”

“How much should it be, then?”

“We will try to get it from that to 12.5. I know that feels like a lot of work, but it will get easier and faster during the time.”

Sure it would.

“Alright. Now you know what to do. You can play the scenario as often as you are able, but do not overdo it at once. This is like you are in the gym, starting a new program. If you start with too heavy weights, you are going to get hurt. From one to three time a day would be good at the start.”

A morning rape scene, then some with lunch and maybe a late dinner. Wonderful.

“Would you like to have a shower? Some real food, perhaps?”

Marigold’s question made him wonder how he hadn’t realize it sooner. But maybe his surrounding hadn’t been his first priority. Until now it wasn’t. While Captain Pervert was yapping to his younger self something how he was a dutiful boy, Herman studied his surroundings. It was not a prison cell, but he was not in the medical wing of Harrowgate either. It looked more like a real hospital room.

“We are in SHIELD NYC base, in the medbay of PSI division. The shower is behind that door. The food will be delivered from the canteen now on, a little change for eating from the bag, I think. It had been almost a week, so take only little portions at first, alright?”

Marigold stood up, eager to go. She had seen his next thought before Herman realized what he was thinking himself.

“Why all this trouble?” he asked. “Don’t understand me wrong, you seem like a nice person, but people who run these places care too much about their time and money to do any charity work. I am not some senator’s virgin daughter. You could have let me go vegetable. Nobody would have cared. Some might even say a scum like me got what I deserved. So why to bother? What is your angle?”

“If you want to put it that way, you can think yourself as an important asset. You are the first platform of this kind we had been able to study alive. You may hold a key to solve these crimes. We got much useful information through you.”

Great. So the perp was coming after him. To get rid off the evidence. And those SHIELD goons kept him functional, because they wanted to capture him. Or her. Use Herman as a bait.

“They may indeed ask your help. Officially you are under witness protection program.”

No going to his sister’s then. No college, no new work or new life. They will sent him to Neverheard, pop. 3106 and forget he exists. That what he was always wanted when he grew up. To be a living bait.

“You realize, Mr. Schultz, as a psychic I can hear your thoughts as well as you would say them aloud.”

Oh, he was counting on it.

“Very well”, Marigold said. For a second Herman thought he had gone too far, but the woman was smiling when she knocked on the door. The guard let her out and then Herman was alone, in his mind too. The birthday party scene had ended, and he had no wish to repeat it anytime soon.


	9. Tony  (and  Herman too)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve is worried about Spidey’s age and corners Peter in the team meeting. Herman meets Captain America the second time and hears unexpected news.

It had been days. If Tony wanted to be sappy, he could say some of the best days of his life. That might be even true. His happiest memories were about Peter. The boy was a bundle of joy. So clever and curious. So good at heart, maybe that came from generations past from his mother’s side, because it couldn’t be from Tony or Howard. Then there were Pepper, his sensible ex-fiancee, and Rhodey, the only person he had trusted before Pepper and Steve.

He could have sent their team leader to some paradise island to recover. Tony owned a few of those. He hadn’t done anything like that, because he was a selfish old bastard. He was having too much fun to be crammed into Steve’s room, eating cupcakes and talking about nothing particular. Or Tony was doing the talking and Steve listened as usual.

Maybe that would explain, how Tony ended up on his back on Steve’s mattress. How he moaned and tensed as those huge paws kept him still as Steve’s clever mouth did its things between his thighs.

“Oh God, Steve. So good.”

No, it didn’t explain it at all. It was only an excuse. Tony had promised to himself this had to stop. This was not… they could get caught and what would people say about Steve then? Would they call him a toy boy? A gold-digger? The media always called Tony’s companions with those monikers, not to insult them, but to tell the truth as the fourth state power should. No young or pretty thing wanted a shopsoiled guy like Tony Stark if there wasn’t something else to gain. Tony understand that, and if this handsome guy needed an introduction to the right model agency or this clever young architect needed an opportunity to show her skills, Tony gave it to them. It was fair. Part of the game in which they all knew the rules.

But Steve. But Steve. Tony had started to understand Steve didn’t know how the game was played. When Steve pushed inside him, it was so good Tony wanted to give something back, but Steve didn’t allow it. He said it like Tony’s heels on his back and cumming into his well-used hole would be a privilege, not a thing you got just by saying hello and taking a number.

That thought made him jello inside. But it was Steve, so full of respect for every living thing, even for Tony. It made Tony’s head spin. Made him speak stupid.

“Steve, Steve, babe! Oh, oh, I love you!”

Yes, he blurted it out just like that. Idiot!

Tony tensed as the orgasm surged through his body. With Steve it was better than, no, better was a wrong word. With Steve it was always so satisfying. But now. Tony’s body was still shaking and panting when his brains were already dipping itself to the smoldering lava of self-doubt. The king of overthinkers as Peter called him. He was sure Steve would pull out and leave his own bed, shaking his head in a helpless wonder. How could Tony understand their arrangement so wrong? It was embarrassing. Steve would feel guilty to hurt his feelings. No, that shouldn’t happen! Tony didn’t allow it.

He grabbed Steve’s head with his both hands and gave his lover his best playboy smirk even if his heart was weeping.

“That was a good one. I loved it.”

It. Tony had loved _It_. Not Steve. Never Steve.

Steve shrugged. “Sure. You are welcome.”

For a moment he looked so hurt and vulnerable, but perhaps Tony had seen wrong. He planted a wet kiss onto Steve’s cheek.

“We should shower, partner. We have a meeting in fifteen.”

“Yes”, Tony remembered. “We’ve guests.”

Steve didn’t comment. He had closed the bathroom door and locked it also, guessing some pitiful old lecher would follow him there and embarrass both of them again.

Tony lurched to his own quarters and didn’t see Steve before their team leader met him at the door of the meeting room. Steve was wearing sweats and T-shirt which was tight from all the right places. A nice sight but a bit unusual, and made Tony wonder why Steve had ditched his uniform. Tony had his Tom Ford suit, because an armor made the guy’s ass sweat. He sat at the table besides Spidey, or the place where Spidey would sit after he removed himself from the ceiling. Sam and Clint sat opposite with Natasha. Janet was standing up, leaving the head of the table to Steve; Janet had acted as their team leader during Steve’s sick leave.

Steve nodded at her and took his seat. “Thanks Janet. Hope you all got Fury’s e-mail and a memo from Ms. Jones regarding this meeting. But before we’ll start with that I would like to address an issue I witnessed when Clint and I visited in Harrowgate prison.”

“It wasn’t my fault!” Clint hollered, shooting up from his chair. “I’ve murophobia! It is not speciesism, but a real medical condition.”

Steve gave him one of his patient smiles, which for some reason looked oddly vague this time.

“Thank you Clint. As usual I’ve no idea what you are talking about, but we can discuss in private after the meeting if you want to ease your conscious. Spidey, would you take a seat too, please. This is actually about you.”

“Me?”

“Yes, as you know I met in Harrowgate a bunch of your old sparring partners.”

Spidey let go of his web and made a perfect somersault, ending on his seat on the tip of his toes. Tony loved to watch that boy go! Graceful as a ballerina and with such a power!

“What did they told you, Cap? Don’t say they’re all traumatized by my yo mama jokes. Did they decide to sue me through a class action? Hopefully, you warned them crime fighting doesn’t pay. Not that I am yapping about our salary. It’s really nice to get money for things you would do for free. Just don’t say Fury what I said, or he will sue me too.”

He was so silly bubbly. Almost as bad as Tony himself. God, if Peter just… no, bad Tony! Peter was perfect as he was.

“That is a part of our problem”, Steve mumbled.

“Which part? Fury? Kids, let Uncle Tony handle Fury.”

Yes, genius. Remind Steve in every turn how fucking old you are.

“The Invasion”, Steve corrected, raising his eyebrows. “And thanks Tony, but I suspect our problem is one Fury created or at least let happen.”

“Now I don’t follow”, Janet confessed. “How are these two things connected? Spidey wasn’t with us during the Invasion.”

“No, he appeared some half a year later, just after the civilians started to morph from relieved to annoyed. As you all recall, the great public was not happy the Avengers wrecked the city and people’s livelihoods even if it wasn’t intentional and we were saving lives. We were all too relieved the spotlight moved from us we didn’t stop to think.”

Sam furrowed his brow. “Steve, what are you saying here?”

“Spidey, we all know your suit tech alters your voice. It is understandable, when one takes his secret identity as seriously as you, but in Harrowgate I got to talk with a guy who has heard your real voice.”

“Oh crap! I shouldn’t have skived off my speech therapy. When I say skinny it sounds like ninny and insulting is never my meaning. I just give accurate descriptions of the actual things.”

“Good”, Steve nodded. “Then you can answer this question. Accurate and actual, please. Spidey, how old are you?”

The silence descended into the meeting room. That was a moment Tony’s throat decided it was itchy and he bent down in the grips of a coughing fit.

Steve run his fingers through his hair, looking too much of a man who didn’t recall when he had gotten a good night’s sleep the last time. “I should have known, but like everybody else I ignored the signs. First I thought you were Asian origin or perhaps just not so awful tall. But you have grown during the last couple of years, aren’t you? At least half a head. Gotten more muscle.”

“How do you know if it is not Pym particles and gym?”

Tony made a quick inventory over his teammates. Natasha’s face was blank as always but other expressions vary from shocked to intrigued which made Spider finally abandon his carefree demeanor.

“For fuck’s sake! I am _not_ minor. And before you say about language: I am old enough to swear like an adult.”

“Even if you are some twenty years old now, you have acted as a superhero almost five years. You fought psychopaths like Doc Oct and Green Goblin, when you were hardly out of a high school.”

Steve had his calculus under control.

“Oh my gosh! Now you finally realized why I never did that open bar in Tony’s New Year party.”

“Are you now?” Spidey wasn’t the only one who didn’t knew when to shut up. “Still not old enough to drink in my parties, I mean?”

“You didn’t get this much interrogation as Iron Man.”

“Spidey, don’t try to turn this discussion to Tony”, Steve snapped. He looked briefly at Tony like assuring himself he was alright, which was a silly thought Tony sometimes cherished in his fantasies of him and Steve. How come that man become even more handsome when angry? “This is a mess of your own making. Can you swear it?”

“What?”

“Your age, dummy.” Janet gave them a tight little smile. “We all like you very much. Just a thought we let a kid get hurt or killed is devastating. So how is it? Would it be better to change the membership of the Avengers to the team ups with Squirrel Girl?”

“I love her tail. It’s so puffy.”

“Clint”, Steve huffed, “maybe you want to reorganize that sentence silently in your mind. Spidey, how is it?”

The wall-crawler was about to lose his temper, which was easy to see even with his mask on. He had been one of the most resourceful members of their team and smart people didn’t like to be scolded like little boys. But as Steve had said it: Spidey had given a rise to this conversation himself.

“Yes, I can do it”, Spidey said finally. “I swear my hand on your absent shield I am at least eighteen years old. Everyone happy now?”

“No, but that is enough. I take a man at his word”, Steve promised his steel-blue stare telling them what would happen if that trust was ever broken. “Please, sit down properly that we can continue.”

Tony couldn’t help a smirk spreading his lips. While agitated, Spidey had climbed to balance on the back of his chair. _Sit down properly._ How many times he had said the sentence to Peter when he was little.

*

Stark Tower. Herman was in Stark Tower. The headquarters of the Avengers. In the elevator! In the corridor! The lair of the mightiest heroes in the world, and Herman was there, just outside their meeting room. How much would Taskmaster pay him for all the info he gathered during this field trip?

Ms. Jones turned to look at him with a raised eyebrow. A telepath, right. “It was a theoretical question.”

“Let’s hope so”, Ms. Jones said. “The next few years will be hard for you, nobody can deny that, and what will happen today is just one of your many trials.”

Herman didn’t doubt her words. Ms. Jones was about to push the button of the door microphone, but loud voices made her to halt the gesture. Were the heroes quarreling with themselves?

“I am not a fucking minor!” an angry and oddly familiar voice was screaming. The Spider-Man, Herman realized.

“Perhaps we have better wait until they are ready”, Ms. Jones decided. There was a small lounge area with two coaches and a sofa table. Herman sat down and took a magazine. It was like waiting in the dentist’s office. Finally the door opened and a tall blond man beckoned them forward. Herman froze for a second. Rogers wasn’t wearing his uniform, so he was just a guy, not Captain America. Right?

“Sorry to keep you waiting, Ms. Jones. Mr. Schultz.”

There they were all. Unlike Rogers, the other Avengers were in their work clothes. So odd and appropriate at the same time. So nice to look at. So nice to touch, Herman thought. Sadly, he had never gotten close enough to do that properly. Or he was, but then the situations hadn’t been open for anything handsy if one preferred consensual.

Therapists and psychologists had talked with him in the prison, trying to get to the bottom of Herman Schultz. He had made sure they got all the usual stuff: a poor home with a drunken violent father and a martyr mother with her two low-pay jobs. After his dad run off with a waitress from their local diner, he had gotten himself better male role models, wallpapered his walls with Captain posters. His ma had thought he was on a right track, not in a loser short cut like his dad.

So little his poor mother knew. Thinking he was a good boy because he didn’t jam their home computer with viruses from the porn sites. Herman liked the money, and maybe the poverty and insecurity surrounding his childhood had caused he never seemed to have enough of anything: money, food, or entertainment. Maybe it was so, or maybe it was just a cover-up for the things he really wanted, because with his smarts he could have masterminded great heists and got his part of the dash without prancing like a fool with other dressed up fools. No other reason to wear a uniform and self-made super tech but liking it. Oh how he had liked it! So when he entered the meeting room his heart didn’t speed up just because of fear being surrounded by the people who could smash him like a fly if he did a wrong move. By God they were a beautiful, sexy bunch!

He gasped in surprise when Spider-Man dropped in front of him, hanging upside down from the ceiling. He hadn’t seen the anarchic-themed hero for four years and his uniform had been changed during that time. Perhaps because the boy had grown up. Herman recalled his rare victory flash screw-up against Spidey, lying unconscious on his feet. Herman had taken off his mask, his glee turning into shock after he realized his adversary was just a kid. And not any kid, but Tony Stark’s brat.

But nothing about that now. “Hello Shocker”, the young man said. The lenses covering his eyes were still big and white, but now they opened and closed with an unnatural click like Spider-Man was winking at him. Maybe he was.

“Spidey”, Herman nodded his greetings. The youngster tilted his head like waiting something. “What?” Herman asked.

Then the hero was gone, balancing himself on the toes of his left foot at the end of the table. “I am in”, he said to Rogers.

“That makes all of us but Clint and I. Hawkeye?”

“I was there. He tried to kill you.”

“Alright Clint. If you aren’t really up to it, it is better you sit this one out.”

“Fuck you, Steve! All right, I am in! And don’t look at me like that. A hand on your absent shield: I will try to the best of my ability to keep him alive.”

A sting eye Hawkeye gave to Herman would have made a more nervous guy to piss himself. _Remind_ _s_ _me of Bullseye,_ Crossfire had confessed to Helmut when he was very drunk, meaning his archnemesis, Clint Barton. The most harmless appearing Avenger had a nasty streak under his jokes and plays.

“It is decided, then. Ms. Jones, you have your roster. We have our other duties, but we’ll fix our schedules that one of us is available 24/7 for Mr. Schultz here.”

He was going to be in protective custody carried out by the Avengers. It was logical, but still a heady thought. If a powerful psychic was after him, wanting to get rid off the evidence, ordinary police officers couldn’t do much to protect him.

“Alright. The meeting is dismissed. About the practical side of this arrangement… would you Tony stay for a minute?”

“Alright.”

The meeting room emptied quickly until there were only Rogers and Stark left. Spidey lingered, looking at him like wanting to say something, but finally even he sneaked out of the door and Herman started to relax. Until the door had closed he had waited for that taffy web to shot into his face or chest.

Rogers was a formidable sight in and out of his uniform. He was as tall as Herman, but his shoulders were wider, his T-shirt making an extra effort to conceal his upper body. His had no scarf or bandage around his neck so Herman had a clear view of that also. He tried to find any signs of the deed which was going to land him into the prison for the rest of his life, but couldn’t distinguish a scar on that smooth, pale skin.

“Ms. Jones wrote you want to stay with your sister. She lives in Bronx, doesn’t she?”

Their parents were dead and Herman and Heather had inherited the apartment which had originally been their grandparents’. In her every letter, Heather had mentioned how the place was a dump and she wanted to sell it. She wanted some fast cash to indulge her loser boyfriend, Herman guessed. But no, he hadn’t signed the papers. Sister was not a planner, and would live in the streets when her money run out.

Stark snorted. The man was lounging on his chair, every inch showing how bored he was of this conversation and Herman in particular. “That is awful brotherly of you. Do they coach you what to say in parole hearings? This is one of the most guarded buildings in the world. If we want to make sure you get through your series of unfortunate events in one piece, living here with us is your safe bet. You are an idiot if you turn down this opportunity, but looking at your record, I am not surprised.”

“Hold that thought, Tony. I can think a more plausible explanations for the situation.” Rogers’s eyes pinched and the blue irises were a tad colder than a few seconds before. “Ms. Jones, are you blackmailing him to act as a bait?”

Ms. Jones hesitated. “No, not in a literal meaning of the word. But he assumes things.”

Rogers’s steely gaze softened again as the turned to talk straight to Herman: “You do realize I ordered them to drop charges against you. Your release will continue as scheduled.”

Herman didn’t believe what his ears were hearing. “Are you for real”, he blurted. Stark had raised his face and palms toward the ceiling as if he was praying. “That, that is very generous of you, sir. I didn’t expect this. I don’t know what to say. Except thank you so much.”

“Steve is a sucker for humble apologizes”, Stark huffed as Rogers reached to shake Helmut’s hand. “You can’t believe the shit I have pulled him through just with my sincere puppy eyes. Now when you actually have some life ahead of you. Do you want to consider again your living arrangements?”

And then what. Live the rest of his life as the Avenger’s house pet? What would that be but another prison? Even if the shithead killed him at least it would be all over and he had seen his sister, tried to mend things with her.

“Yes, your sister. How about her? What if you being there put her too in danger.”

“Tony”, Rogers admonished him. “Leave the man alone. He is right. He can’t be trapped here forever. We will figure something out.”

“Alright. Please sign there”, Ms. Jones said, pushing a stack of papers before him. Stark stared at him with a squinted eyes, when he took the pencil. No worry folks, no stabbing today. He wrote his name and so he was free. Or in parole at least.


	10. Peter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter gets a strange gift from Wade. But is the setup right for their first kiss without the masks on a way?

Peter expected Shocker to blurt it aloud. Maybe out of spite. Spider-Man was the hero who had landed him in the prison. Shocker would call him Peter or say something else which would reveal to his dad and his uncles and aunts his secret identity.

That was the hard part of being a superhero. You were constantly in a mercy of people, who didn’t have to play by the rules. Who had made their reputation of how flashy they could make other people miserable.

When he had woken up in that alley years ago, he had known right away something finite had happen. His suit tech told him. The topmost piece of his uniform had been removed and then pulled back over his head. Somebody had checked out his face, and because the last person he had seen before the blackout was that damn sonic boom bad guy in his yellow fish net padded suit, Peter didn’t expect nothing much but trouble.

But the time went by and there were no blackmailing attempts. No deathtraps designed for Peter Stark or threats against his few friends which would have indicated Shocker had sold his identity to a third party for millionzillion dollars.

Sometimes Peter didn’t understand criminals. Shocker robbed banks, so he was after money. Right? But then a golden goose flies right into his lap and what did he do? Yeah, exactly nothing.

The thing hadn’t bothered him for a long time, but seeing the guy again had been a nasty reminder of their unfinished business. Peter tried to turn his science head on and study the problem calmly and objectively, but those few drama genes he had inherited from his dad were screaming for hare-brained action, and this time they won. Peter took an elevator to the roof and brooded on the edge like a lithe, red gargoyle until he saw the door open and Shocker coming to the street. Ms. Jones was nowhere to be seen, nor there were the agents who had escorted them to the tower. It had to mean Shocker had signed the papers and was now a free man, and then what Peter was planning to do was actually an assault, right?

Peter shot his web and ripped Shocker from his feet and into the air. He had expected the man would at least scream a little. The situation would have been more satisfactory that way. His powers and skills had grown from the days they had met the last time. Not to say had lots of practice about transport services after he met Deadpool.

Up, up, up. And then down again. Swing it, Spidey! Wade loved it. Hollered like a kid in a roller coaster.

But it was not Wade hanging from his neck with a grip like a vice. It was Shocker who had clamped his lips tightly shut, not uttering the tiniest of whimpers, even if his face was pale and sweaty. Peter remembered the memo Ms. Jones had sent to Steve, and suddenly he felt like a bully.

He put Shocker down when he spied a subway sign. “Didn’t get a cab so he commuted with me”, he explained to the people gawking at them. “No need to drop onto your knees in gratitude”, Peter continued and kept Shocker up until his feet stopped wobbling.

“You little shit”, the man mumbled, but he didn’t sound angry. Only tired. And now a bit nauseated.

“Love you too, Shocker. If you really stay in Mott Haven, say hi if you pump against my friend Daredevil.”

He didn’t hear if Shocker answered, because he was again on a move. His phone was alarming about the incoming call, but it was only Clint again leaving a message after Peter didn’t answer.

“Dammit, Spidey! Don’t screen my calls. Alright, this is not an emergency, but you have to see this. This is too good to miss.”

Peter doubted that. Uncle Clint was such an attention whore. What would it be this time? Baking soda in the coffee machine and candid camera video about Uncle Thor, wondering what went wrong with his beverage making. He was about to send a short message and tell Barton to piss off, when he got a picture and an address.

“What the hell?”

Peter let go of his web. He glued the soles of his feet to the wall and stared at his phone, not even noticing the office workers who gathered behind the nearest window, staring and pointing at his direction.

He loved the business districts of Manhattan and their numerous skyscrapers, which were like private amusement park for a person with his powers. Swinging there with no good reason was a guilty pleasure of his, because it robbed his time and attention from the places and people of the poorer neighborhoods who could have use for somebody to watch their backs. And some of those building managers were so snobby! Calling the Avengers hot line and complaining about his web residues or his foot prints on their pristine windows.

So Peter had avoided those places lately. Now he probably didn’t have a chance.

“Pink”, he mumbled tense from the shock. “Why does it had to be pink? Who am I, Peppa Pig? Do I sound like bloody British?”

It had be photo shopped. Had to be. Wade couldn’t...

Of course he could, as Peter noticed after reaching the 432 Park Avenue. A lightly hysterical giggle escaped from his mouth. _This could be better,_ Peter thought. _It could be worse. It could have been one of those other buildings, for example Trump Tower. Or the headquarter of Os_ _corp_ _._ This one, though. No presidents or supervillains, only famous, rich people, who could be calmed down with a fat lawsuit or perhaps just a few flippant jokes from their peer, Tony Stark.

But how in hell had Wade managed the feat? The paint covered entirely the middle one of those seven twelve-story-tall segments. The background was pink but there was also a big round sign, which was their combined faces. Not their real faces, but their masks. On the right side there was Deadpool’s black panda eye, on the left Spider-Man’s white with webs.

Wade had been married to a demon queen. He still got some connections to the underworld. Otherwise it wouldn’t been possible to manage all this in… When had it appeared anyway?

Peter made sure he wasn’t seen by the nosy news helicopters and then he called Wade.

“Happy two week anniversary, Baby Boy!”

Alright. That explained the reason.

“We got in the news! Aawww…. They have given us a couple name already! The lady with a funny hair calls us Double Menage!”

“That is nice, Wade. But I don’t think Tony will be pleased when he sees the cleaning bill. Couldn’t you just draw me a card? Buy a few bags of those chili cheese nachos?”

“Or I got you better, Sweet Cheeks. I got you chocolate from the Godiva place! Funny thing, they thought I was you even if our uniforms looks nothing alike. It was like I was buying the chocolate for myself. I must have been eaten it on my way home so I asked my underground homies to do you little something instead. Tell Tony not to worry about it, Sweet Cheeks. It will vanish in a few hours.”

So it was demon queen’s magic after all. Peter felt a stab of jealousy, which made him lose his footing on the wall. An actual slipping wasn’t really a problem for a guy with Velcro hands and feet, only the other kind of slips, those could be fatal. He and Wade were friends with benefits, right? Why would he feel jealous over Wade’s former or present paramours?

“All right, Wade. I just wanted…”

What he wanted was to meet Wade right away. Fence his yard, piss circles around him. Let the mercenary fuck him until he was too bent to utter a half a thought after his stupid ex.

Perhaps it was because he had been without sex four days now. That was a long time for Stark men who had gotten a taste. Wade had been out of town in merc business and then something had happened in his apartment. Peter wasn’t sure what it was even after Wade’s long and rambling explanation, but Wade’s typical accidents included explosions, cockroach invasions, or gang shootouts. If it was the last one Wade was usually too lazy to get rid of the bodies.

Wade was between the apartments and Peter had a proposition. He had no idea what Wade would say about it. Would he be offended?

“Meet me in our usual place in an hour. I have little something for you too.”

His promise wasn’t a euphemism for anything sexual. Peter really had something for Wade, but it wasn’t actually little. And no, not another euphemism.

“What… You naughty boy! When have you started breaking into the penthouses? Wow, look at this place!

Wade was making it sound fancy. The building was from the 60s, a renovated high rise in 51st Street. His two bedroom apartment on the top floor had required a tight team of qualified professionals to bring his vision alive. Unlike his room in Stark Tower this was a place for adult living, so no posters on the walls or mini fridges and game consoles all over the place.

“Do you know who owns these sweet digs? Maybe some mafia boss? Can I shoot him?”

Peter snorted. His neighbors knew him as a reasonable wealthy young professional, who was so painfully shy and nerdy his work had to be something to do with computers.

“No Wade. This belongs to Peter Stark.”

“Tony’s kid. But why? There was a superhero entrance on the roof… Wait a minute! Is this your secret love nest? Are you having an affair with Stark junior? Is it because his daddy is rich? Oh Baby Boy, are you some starving college student? Let mama Wade catch you some flies!”

He had two doctorates, so no. And no flies. What it was with Wade and his arachnid fantasies?

“As an Avenger I have my place in Stark Tower, but you got yourself blacklisted. We can’t go there, and… Secret identity and stuff, you know.”

Wade nodded. “I would snoop around.”

The incident which had gotten Wade banned from the Tower was a funny one. Wade had been a tad too enthusiastic about a possible Avatar sequel and filled their deck pool with blue paint in the morning Steve had chosen to skip his routine laps. The first one in the pool had been Tony who in his usual manner didn’t look what he was doing. He had dived into the water, and emerged, not like a noble catlike warrior but more like an angry smurf.

“You like, Wade? I am glad. Have to say that couch looks good under you.”

Peter’s voice had dropped in a register. Stop it, he said to himself. But he was right. The furniture was sturdy framed and pillows were leather with extra strong stitches. It was a couch made for superpowered snogging.

He sat astride on Wade’s slap. Usually the merc’s hands would have been roaming all over his behind right away. Wade was still and frigid, which was unusual combination for the merc. But of course! Peter had suggested snogging. The last time they had talked about their masks, or a possibility to remove them. If not the whole thing, enough for a proper, skin-touching kiss. Wade had now combined those things and was waiting in horror Peter would snatch his mask off.

“Wade”, Peter begin, when the merc moved his hands. “Please, you don’t have to. It is no good if it makes you uncomfortable.”

Wade’s Adam’s apple popped as he gave his mask a hasty pull, enough to loosen it from under his collar. A delight and dread were playing tag in Peter’s mind as Wade rolled the fabric until his whole jaw and lips were exposed.

Peter had removed his glove. Touching Wade’s skin like this, perhaps it was too much to the merc. He always knew when Wade closed his eyes behind his mask, and now they were tightly shut, his jaw trembled under his fingers.

“Oh Wade”, Peter whispered. Wade’s breath smelled of chocolate. His lips were chapped, but not too much, maybe he had remembered to use the moisturizer for them too. Peter wiped his thump slowly over Wade’s upper lip as if preparing them for more intimate touch.

Peter was a good kisser. He had lots of practice. When he had been with Harry or Gwen they had all been minors, so lots of kissing and petting the clothes on. He had already decided he didn’t want to be like Tony who lost his virginity at the tender age of fourteen in some boring family wedding on the grand piano behind the orchestral curtain. No thank you, and when Peter did the real thing, it would be in the proper bed and he would be at least seventeen which was the age of legal consent in the state of New York.

So Johnny Storm had the honor of popping his cherry. Felicia Hardy and those occasional trysts showed him more moves. Like this one, which had been her favorite. Oh the taste of that woman was not at all as vile as was her nature, but she never reached Wade’s level of enthusiasm. Peter had hardly sat on his face when his moist, warm mouth attacked him. Now he was allowed to watch as those lips caressed his balls, sucking and nipping and then easing the sensation by letting little light kisses behind. The side of his dick was a playground of the strong tongue, which explored his length from the root to the top. The apartment was sound proofed, so there was no harm to let Wade hear his pleasure as the man pulled his dick into his mouth with one shift move and started sucking and rolling his tongue. It was self feeding cycle, his noises making Wade to increase his efforts, which in turn made Peter’s moans louder, until he felt he would explode from inside out if he couldn’t move.

His every muscle was on fire and trembling, but if he moved as fast and strong he wanted to, he would knock a few teeth out from Wade’s mouth, or in the worst case, suffocate him by breaking something in his throat.

“Please”, Peter moaned. He grabbed Wade’s hands and put them on his hips. “Please, Wade… I…”

His scrambled pleads sank under a loud shout when Wade pulled him forward. Yes, that was what Peter had tried to say. Wade sucked and pulled, let go and pushed, deciding the rhythm which didn’t break him. His long fingers dug into Peter’s ass cheeks as Peter fucked Wade’s face. He felt the merc stutter under him as an orgasm surged through the man, filling the air with the delicious smell of the spunk. Peter came soon after, his fingers crushing another couch arm.

“That was… God, Wade.”

That had been some snogging! A stray thought about Black Cat and then… Thank you, bitch, and he meant it purely in a biological meaning of the word, which referred to a female feline.

Wade licked his lips. There was some cum on his cheek too. Peter bent down to lick it away when he realized his own mask was still tightly on. He released the fastening and rolled his mask up in a same way Wade had done. Wade froze, his mouth lightly ajar.

Peter had anticipated his reaction, but his heart still gave out a few too rapid beats. Wade’s gloves were off and he raised his hand to Peter’s chin, much like Peter had done to him. A light wipe and Wade snatched his fingers away like his skin was too hot to touch. The merc’s other hand had raised to push his chest, unconsciously trying to keep him away.

“Spidey, when I called you Baby Boy, I… it was a joke, but you are… you are really… soft?”

No double meaning. Wade meant his cheek. Peter didn’t need to worry about five o’clock shadow. He probably wouldn’t grow much body hair either. He got that from his mother’s side.

It was that inconvenient age conversation again, but this one he had expected. He had prepared a short speech, and Wade’s steel like hand on his chest, his trembling lips told Peter he should get on with it as soon as possible.

“Wade, we are mates. Do you really think I would disrespect you like that? Make you have sex with a minor? You think I would do that to you? We could have had this years ago, my brain was mature enough, but I waited for you, Muffin.”

He liked cupcakes and Wade. Sue him.

“I thought. I… how old?”

“Nineteen.”

Wade let out quivering breath which was one part relief and two parts growing confusion and angst.

“Baby Boy, I am almost twenty years older than you.”

“Yes, Wade. I am well aware. As you know, there are SHIELD files about you.”

“But I am old.”

He was. What he was also was smoking hot. And kind. Pig and silly. Utterly mad in and out of his real medical condition.

“Your healing factor makes you immortal. After three hundred years there will be nobody of your age. Except Thor, but he has a few thousand years more in his back. He will consider you a toddler.”

“Yes. You will die.”

Oh Wade.

“Wade, listen. I could walk under the bus tomorrow. Or more likely I could be crushed, stabbed or eaten alive by some of those maniacs I fight every other week. Shouldn’t that knowledge make us appreciate these moments only more?”

“Nobody will eat you but me.”

There was that familiar rumbling again. But what had those words been? It sounded much like a commitment. Did that mean he was in a relationship with Wade? As in a romantic, one plus one relationship Peter had swore to never be again. What a rebel he had been. As a Stark male, shouldn’t he have his own harem already?

Too complicated. Even two people could make a mess of things as Peter knew from his own experiences. He wasn’t an idiot like his dad, who every time twisted himself into knots by overthinking simple, clear things. Peter mentally shrugged his shoulders and admitted to himself maybe the situation had changed and a relationship was back in cards.

“So Wade. That is a door which swings both ways. I tolerate no cheaters nor their excuses. If you really think nobody else should eat me, for me that is one way road which eventually leads to the marriage.”

Look at that. He had finally found a way to shut the merc up.

“What… what are you saying?”

“Marriage”, Peter drawled. Yes, that was the magic word. Wade closed his mouth so fast his teeth crunched.

“But… but...”

“Yes, Wade?”

“You said that… but what if I forget?”

“I will sent an automatic message to your phone. Every day.”

Wade’s body sifted under him. The guy was nervous, but more of that rubbing his groin against his ass, and Peter would be hard again. The thought made his voice terse as he continued:

“You didn’t think twice about marrying a demon queen. Or that space hippo. But with me you hesitate.”

“Are… are you angry with me, Baby Boy?”

Maybe he was. It never lasted long. “Wade, what is it?”

“It is just”, Wade tried to explain. “I knew those other relationships wouldn’t last and I didn’t mind. But when this doesn’t last… Baby boy, I don’t know what to do. Off myself? Being there, done that. It never lasts either.”

It was now confirmed. Peter was a dickhead. Even when he didn’t try to be.

“Hey. Come here.”

He bent forward until he rested his body over Wade. Wade put his arms around him and closed his eyes behind his mask. Peter hoped it was for pleasure this time.


	11. Herman (and Matt too)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet the Devil of… Bronx?

Herman met his sister. It didn’t go overly well.

Heather was all about selling the apartment again. She was too thin, and the lovely hair she had always done so carefully was only an untidy mop, growing out the bleach. Herman’s heart sank. He knew too well what those signs meant, and he wondered why the all-knowing authorities hadn’t told him his sister had dropped out of the wagon again.

There was also black around her eyes and Herman wasn’t meaning only from slack of sleep. There were other bruises, on her arms at least, he was not able to make her a body search. Sister was not into roller derby so the reason had to be one of those shitheads she always attracted like honey is sweet for flies. She understood his worried looks right, because Herman wasn’t able to ask anything, not even the guy’s name when sister was out of the apartment and running down the stairs.

_Splendid_. Herman covered his face with his hands and just breathed for a while. Not counting ten, that was a useless endeavor. He was thinking. The instinct screamed him to run after her, but that would be the dumbest thing he would do. Starting to berate Heather’s boyfriend would make Herman a villain and glue sister even more tightly to the man-shaped dungheap.

So he tried again this other, slower way. It was a known fact an addict wouldn’t stay sober if she didn’t want to. All Herman could do was not to give her too much leeway to hang herself.

If she had thing to do, maybe she would forget the booze and pills for awhile. He could start his renovation plans sooner than he had thought. When she come back, he would have to show color charts and wallpaper models. Stark had given him a credit card and promised he would pay all the costs which were reasonable. A new Porsche or a Caribbean cruise wouldn’t fit the bill, but paint and brushes, or parquet would. Same with clothes and food, furniture and home ware, which was good, because it seemed sis had already sold everything worth any value.

The situation with Stark wasn’t so hard to believe. The SHIELD and the Avengers really wanted that psychic caught and Herman was their best lead. Stark had money to spare. But they hadn’t needed this big a cheese to keep him beside the mouse trap. On top the credit card, his new wallet contained almost thousand bucks in cash and of course unlimited Metrocard of all things. There was also a calling card with a little task from Stark, which Herman should take care of as soon as possible. Perhaps right away.

“Alright”, Herman mumbled. But first things first. He should visit the grocery store. He had found both freezer and fridge empty, and the cabinets contained only cereals and a can of tomato soup. He didn’t want to make an impression he was going to eat out two times a day with Stark’s money.

Doing the shopping was en easy task. He just had to cross the street. It was a cozy neighborhood store, kept by an elderly Spanish speaking couple Herman didn’t recognize. Sounded like Puerto Ricans though. Sounded like ma.

He had also a new phone. Stark’s own model, of course. He listened to the news as he prepared his meal. Eggs and bacon, and some blueberry pancakes. It was not a morning, but prison breakfasts were nothing to write home about.

His shoulder ached from the shot Stark had administrated. The thing had looked like a pistol with a needle point. Stark had shot into him nanites, which acted as a GPS device and monitored also his bodily functions. If Herman as much as got winded while climbing the stairs, the Avengers would know about it.

Then there was the case of the calling card. _Nelson & Murdoch, Attorneys of Law._

Stark had assured their office had specialized in cases including capes. According to him Herman needed somebody to watch his back, legally like. “You will never know about what would happen when the SHIELD is involved”, Rogers had added, and if you couldn’t believe Captain America, who then.

*

“I told you so Karen”, Foggy said to the tall blond woman sitting behind an office desk. “Don’t try to deny it. You saw it too. Twenty bucks the bet said, and it goes from your salary.”

“I still don’t believe it”, Karen mumbled. “Sharon’s sister is blind and she would...”

“She would what?” Matt interrupted. “Let me guess. Foggy fooled you again. Twenty bucks, that was some expensive coffee.”

He was late. Or he wasn’t, it was his firm. Or partly anyway. Nelson & Murdoch, the door glass stated.

Matt put one of the coffee mugs on the desk and handled the other one to the proximal direction of Foggy’s voice. “Karen, Sharon’s sister has a cataract. She had been blind only a few months, and she will see again after the surgery. She doesn’t have to learn any finickiness which comes when a person is unable to see. If she keeps her finger inside the cup when she is pouring, that is understandable, but a bit unhygienic, don’t you think? And painful if it is hot beverage.”

“I never said, Mr. Murdoch… Oh God! What happened to your face?”

His face. There were probably some scraps over his chin still visible. If anything could be deduced about Karen’s rising heartbeat, his hair didn’t completely cover his new stitches.

“Please Karen. Try to call me Matt. Karen, let me tell you something about anticipation. Even as a seeing person, when you hear a motor, you can deduce the car is coming, right? You can do this even if you don’t see the actual vehicle. For me it is not more complicated than that. I know the size of the mugs around here and I am familiar with a coffee pot.”

“Yes, but...”

“Oh, this.” Matt pretended surprise and touched his jaw. How his teeth still hurt! “My cleaner had moved a foyer carpet. No anticipation, you know. I tripped and hit my face on the door. Poor woman, she was devastated. She taped all the carpets on their regular spots just to be on the safe side.”

“Yes, that is Matt, playing it safe”, Foggy said in sarcastic tones Karen hopefully didn’t decipher. “Nice to have you this early… meaning before our afternoon coffee break. When we now have a client and all.”

“We have clients all the time. For example yesterday...”

“I mean paying clients. Not this pro bono thing we have been going on since we opened our new office. I told you yesterday, but that knock in you head obviously rattled your memory.”

“There is nothing wrong at giving back to community.”

“Yes there is when it doesn’t pay rent. We had a perfectly fine practice in our old place. Just to think we had to move here and start all this over again.”

Foggy was laying it on thick. Karen was watching them her heart rate still elevated. She didn’t comprehend Foggy was only going through the motions and not being angry for real. Matt knew his best friend had started to feel bored in their old office. It had been a slow and steady progress, but Hell’s Kitchen had become too posh a neighborhood to have its own guardian devil. Nothing to stand against except raising rent prices. Mott Haven, however. That was a different tale.

“Mr. Nelson, about that appointment.”

“Karen, please. It is Foggy. What is it? Please, don’t say he called and canceled.”

“No, not that. But the background info you asked me to search. I mean, I am new in this job. I don’t know what kind of cases your office usually works with…”

That made Matt to pay attention. Perhaps Karen’s anxiety wasn’t purely for his wounded warrior face. “Karen, what is it?”

“Well, Mr. Murdoch. When I searched sex offenders register...”

“Why, what for”, Foggy interrupted. “No, scratch that. You did well, but please, please say it was public urinating and a hysterical judge.”

Karen shrugged helplessly. Foggy had snatched a pile of prints from her table, and Karen was handing Matt a braille version of the papers Foggy was busy reading, even if she didn’t know how to manage the task. When she had waited for some five nervous seconds Matt to grab a thing he wasn’t supposed to know was there, Karen finally tapped his arm with the file.

“Oh God, oh God!” Foggy wailed. “And there goes our rent!”

Matt didn’t question his friend’s reaction after he had quickly fingered the text through. “Karen, please contact Mr. Schultz and tell him our schedule is full.”

“Alright, Mr. Murdoch.”

“Yes, Karen. Please do that. I wouldn’t want to disinfect our office.”

Matt raised his eyebrow. “Foggy, maybe we want to act professional about this. Our new legal aide present and everything.”

“Sorry, Karen”, Foggy asked. “What I meant, you raised a salient point. We are established a certain ethical standard for our work here, I am sure I have a memo somewhere. I will sent it to you later. Now if you excuse us. Matt, we should…”

Foggy took his arm, pulled him to the side room and closed the door behind them. “I know that look.”

“What look? You have to be more precise. I haven’t used mirror lately.”

“You know what I am talking about. If you are going to keep cleaning up the neighborhood why don’t you call Frank.”

Frank as in Frank Castle, the Punisher. In this particular case it was a tempting thought.

“I don’t kill.”

Foggy snorted. “No, you had that thin red line still to cross. You just throw people off the roofs or beat them into a coma. And get yourself mangled in the process.”

“Foggy.”

Foggy raised his hands in the gesture of surrender. “Yes, yes. Stop being the worried best friend and be more a sidekick with a snappy banter. You walked your face into a door. I get it. Did you bring the door to the police station or did you just leave the door in the dumpster somewhere?”

The door had skipped the town. It was the same one time deal Herman Schultz was going to get. Or perhaps he preferred that brief airless feeling when you were falling from some high place? That could be arranged too. Matt had gotten his address from Karen’s papers, but it was still long hours until dark when he would make his move.

Matt tried to focus on the article he had been asked to write, when sounds around him tried their every trick to threw him off-balance. Foggy’s hopeless flirting with Karen, their elevated heart beats, the vehicles outside, a wailing baby three apartments away. Why it was always children who came through any veil he could erect around himself?

It had to be colic. Or maybe an ear infection. The baby cried for hours, but when Matt went to the stairs and concentrated, he could hear an anxious adult heart next to hers, somebody was taking care of the little one.

Foggy and Karen had decided to make a brief visit to a bar before heading home. He tried to decline, but they bullied him to come with them. What was he now, a wingman? Hasn’t Foggy already noticed he was a scrappy one? Matt had no idea how he looked, he had seen his face last time when he was nine years old, but people had told him he was handsome. He also had a disability which added to the mystery. That was a sure recipe for a disaster when your best mate was trying to score.

Matt excused himself after one beer and hurried to change into his other work clothes. His apartment was in the same building than their office; it had been a package deal and a cheap one, even if Foggy didn’t always think so. There was a hidden panel covering the closet back wall. It wouldn’t fool a team of CSI, but was enough to fox an occasional burglar.

Then he run. A wind hit his face as he leaped from the roof to the next, a rattling of fire escapes was the only witness as he jumped town to the streets. Then he was over the road or through the park and in the air again. His nights in their best were a parkour experiment many people would have killed to have and Matt too felt again the familiar rush, which was better than any beer or even the company of his friends. Even better than sex. Especially better than sex, he thought, but decided not to waste this time for things which left a bad taste into the mouth. And he was almost in his destination.

He took a fire escape again and soon he stood on the roof of the six story building in the address Herman Schultz had given to Karen. He cowered beside the roof edge and listened to the voices inside. There were lots of them, but he could eliminate apartments with children right away. Elderly persons were also easy to discern from their heartbeat, but the lower levels of the building were too far for him to manage that. Then he heard a woman saying his target’s name. There. Two raised voices. One female and one man. They were arguing. Matt wasn’t able to get to know what that was about, when something made of glass was smashed into the floor and the door slammed. After a brief moment, a woman run to the street. The man was not far behind, but enough for Matt to use the fire escape again and jump from his hide-out behind the guy.

“Heather! You fucking stop right now! You are not going back to...”

Matt grabbed his arm and pulled him into the dark spot between the buildings. “Leave her alone”, he growled. “Your business with her is over. Get away from my neighborhood. We don’t need your kind here.”

A spiked heart rate told him his message had been received. To make his point, Matt squeezed his arm tighter, waiting how the man would response. The crooks never got this part right anyway. They were like virgin daughters of pious parents, who had heard the stories of unwanted pregnancies, but always thought it couldn’t happen to them. This time Matt was in a line for a surprise. No attempts to run or pulling a gun on him. Maybe the man hadn’t had time to get one yet.

“Spidey asked to say hi”, the man said evenly. “Listen, Devil. Would you mind to let go of me? 

I have to catch my sister before she does something really stupid like going back to the shithead who gave her those bruises.”

The file had mentioned a sister as a next of kin. Covering his ass, of course. He didn’t know Matt was blind and hadn’t seen any injuries in the woman.

“I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think...” At last the man was starting to sound agitated, perhaps also a bit insecure which often came with anger. “Take your hand off, pal. This is my home and my sister and I am not going anywhere but after her.”

Nobody could say Matt hadn’t warned the guy. The perp still acted surprised when Matt hit him into the stomach. A shift uppercut made him raise his head again and Matt kicked him in the chest. No reason to target only the head and leave him unconscious and unable to feel the things Matt was going to do to him.

A few more moves and the guy decided to retreat. Too bad Matt wanted nothing to do with his plan. His opponent had some experience, but nothing like Matt’s, who just had delivered a perfect Butterfly Twist, his left foot kicking the guy’s shoulder. The perp lurched and fell down on the ground. That position was a familiar one, because he moved and covered himself like a person who was waiting kicks delivered to his temple or kidneys.

“Don’t… Devil, listen! You are like Spidey, defending the little guys when those other heroes fight in intergalactic wars. I don’t want to do this, but I’ve important things to do. I can’t let you put me into the hospital. Got no time for that.”

Matt had a moment to wonder what the guy meant, when he heard a sound which was easy to distinguish even from under the surrounding ruckus of the city or the man’s careful inhales telling anyone listening his ribs were bruised. Not wanting to believe his senses, Matt let the unique whine of repulsors fill his ears. Four blocks away and approaching fast. Iron Man, the golden Avenger, was flying to their way like a pack of hell hounds was nipping at his heals. It had be a co-incidence. This couldn’t be what the perp had meant. Or was it?

“What are you waiting for? Run already!”

The man made gestures like trying to tidy himself, but his attempts to wipe his face probably smeared blood all over his cheeks and jacket sleeve. The whole strangeness of the situation rattled Matt enough to make him obey. He jumped up and pulled himself into the fire escape. He had hardly rushed to the roof and hid himself into the shadows when Iron Man arrived, landing in the alley Matt just had left.

The conversation which followed didn’t make much sense either. Mugging was mentioned and then the hospital. The man declined any given help, and after some five minutes, he went back inside and Iron Man was airborne again. The Avenger turned around, hovering in the air about ten yards away. It was a common knowledge the armor was full of science fiction tech, and a heat signature of Matt’s body was easy to pick up against the already cooled roof even without any special equipment.

Matt knew he had been found out. He waited Stark to come after him, but the repulsors blasted again. Iron Man shot to the sky and fly into the direction of the main island.

Matt’s head spin. He had still difficulties to believe what had just happened. What the hell was going on? Why were the Avengers or at least Tony Stark protecting a sexual predator?

He knew one person who would have some answers, but contacting him was problematic. He hadn’t changed phone numbers with Spider-Man, even if he had worked with the kid a few times. Matt knew his identity though. Every person had his or her unique smell and hadn’t Matt been surprised when he had detached Spidey’s in a charity gala. Peter Stark had been there with his father Tony and filled the role of a bored teenager in spades. Too bad Spidey didn’t know him as Matt Murdoch, and after tonight he could hardly march into the Avengers tower in his night clothes.

Sometimes a secret identity was a major pain in the ass.


	12. Clint (and Peter too)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clint is trying to train himself out of murophobia. Peter returns to his and Wade’s apartment and is greeted with a ghastly but not so unexpected sight.
> 
> WARNING! This chapter contains a non-graphic scene of self-harm and a temporary character death.

Before proceeding heed the warning!

Alright, continue.

Clint was eating a cupcake while staring at the rat. It was a nice looking rodent. Clint had bought it from the pet store with a cage, toys, food and other homey things. It was still a rat and made shivers go down his spine, but Clint felt he deserved all the discomfort he was getting.

He had reported to Fury about the Shocker and those dead small time villains. He had told him his theory, how the cases were connected. He had thought the SHIELD would investigate, but Fury had run to tell Special Victims Quad like a traitor he was, and they had put Steve through a mind scourge, claiming he was one of the perpetrators. Yeah right! And then Fury had gulls to claim Steve needed a few sick days to heal from the operation which saved his life, when in reality he needed those days to get his head straight again after the most horrible memories imaginable.

Clint knew well what the mind scourge did. He had been a black ops agent, and a scourge and a psychic with lose morals was the easiest and fastest way to interrogate a perp if you didn’t have to mind the person in the chair would be functional ever again. Clint also knew he was the weakest link of the team. No, really! He was, not need to save his feelings. He was not the only one without superpowers, but Natasha was a force of nature, so she was almost elemental. But now… After this mess, he wasn’t only a powerless loser, he felt like a traitor too.

Maybe that explained the rat. Clint continued to hate rodents, even if the animal in front of him was without a doubt the cutest little lady alive. She was jet black, but her ears and tail were pinkish and the fur of her front legs was white, making her look like she was wearing tiny gloves.

“Clint? What are you doing? Why there is a rat in our kitchen?

It was Tony’s boy again. Clint turned his head, a smile plastered on his lips. A carefree joker of the team, that was him. No boring moment.

“Oh, say hi to Brigitte.”

If he waited Peter to be squeamish, he was on the road to disappointment. Then he remembered how massive nerd Petey was. He was used to play with rodents in his lab, probably daily basis.

“It’s a boy, by the way”, Peter was saying, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “Why did you call him Brigitte?”

“No she isn’t. She is my little gal. Aren’t you? Yeah?”

Clint tapped the bars and Brigitte came to sniff his finger. Clint knew confrontations weren’t boy’s favorite, but maybe it was time that he learned to defend himself. If he started his teaching lightly, maybe he would get better results than Nat.

“Those testicles he were showing to you are a dead giveaway”, Peter mumbled, giving him a nervous smile. “It is a male. Why he is in the kitchen? In the cage? Is he your pet?”

“What if that is so?”

Peter shrugged his shoulders. “Weird.”

“Weird like not cutting her into the little pieces? Did you hear, lovely? Did you hear what that naughty mad scientist wants to do to you?”

“I am not...”

“And I already bought a cute skirt and apple blossom socks.”

The boy sniffed his nose. Clint could see the infamous Stark impatience rising.

“It is a rat. It has no concept of human clothing. Except he probably don’t like any.”

Finally an idea which made some sense to Clint. “Yeah, you are right. I can doll her up anyway I want.”

“What part of my sentence you used to that conclusion? He won’t like any… oh well. When you get bitten you see it yourself.”

Clint turned his head that Peter didn’t see him smirking. That brief flash of the eyes, sharp gestures… the boy sounded exactly like Tony when the older Stark had to act with people under his IQ level.

“He can bite?” Clint wondered, widening his eyes.

“Uncle Clint! You wouldn’t bite if a giant started to ram you into a tube of fabric?”

This was too funny. This was exactly what the doctor ordered, but then Tony came to the kitchen.

“Oh, you have started animal trials already. What is it? Not that body lotion again?”

Clint grabbed the cage and run.

*

“What is wrong with Clint… what I am saying, what is right with Barton. Steve, cupcakes.”

It sounded more like an order than an invitation, but Cap came anyway. Tony stuffed Peter under his arms and gave a kiss on his temple.

“These citrus ones are to die for”, he mumbled. “Peter, dear. Have you any way to contact Spider-Man?”

“What? Why?” Peter was instantly suspicious. “You have the Avengers communicator. Why don’t you use it?”

“The problem is Spidey stopped answering anything else than emergency calls after the last time Barton bombed him from our numbers”, Steve explained. “I wouldn’t want this to wait until our next team meeting.”

“So what is it?”

“It is nothing bad, just some witness protection work we do with SHIELD. Our guy was attacked last night, but when Tony got to the scene he claimed he was mugged.”

“He wasn’t?”

“I don’t think so”, Tony mused. “I saw Daredevil lurking in the shadows.”

_So why_ _didn’t_ _Shocker_ _just said so to Tony_ , Peter wondered. Daredevil wasn’t that scary. Or was he?

“If Spidey explained to him our guy is off limits, this would be easier to everybody. It will be unfortunate if Devil gets in the way. I like his gritty back street gig and wouldn’t want to crisp his tail with my repulsors. And what has he against Schultz anyway? He has served his time. I thought Devil would attack only those guys who are making actual crimes.”

Peter had no answers for either questions. No idea how to contact Daredevil either. They had team upped a few times, but is wasn’t like they were bosom buddies. Even if he wear a mask, it didn’t mean he has changed numbers with every guy in the superhero community.

Except he actually had, Peter realized. He was happily almost-engaged to the guy whose favorite pass time was to ring harassing phone calls to the persons of his fancy. Peter had once sat next to Wade when he had talked to the White House pretending to be President of Russia. Most of the people they knew were aware of Wade’s antics and blocked his number or chanced their own numbers if nothing else helped. How Wade always bested even Peter’s considerable hacker skills was anyone’s guess. Perhaps mad man’s luck?

Peter promised his dad and Steve to deliver their message to his alter ego. Which was all well and proper, because Spider-Man had given his word to try and keep Shocker safe. Secret identities, they could really mess with your head! Peter went to his room and hanged around his computer a few hours, so he didn’t seem too obvious when he slipped to change. Wade wasn’t answering his cell which wasn’t unusual, but Peter had left the message to meet him at the apartment.

When he entered their secret love nest, Peter realized something wasn’t right. His Spider-sense was quiet, so it couldn’t be anything life-threatening. But everything else. In the apartment there were too many clues of his other identity that Peter could use cleaning services. He did the hoovering and mopping himself in regular basis, but he hadn’t done it recently. Why then he smelled his regular apple cleaning product? And what was even more odd, there were no pizza boxes or weapons lying around. No dirty dishes or clothes.

No Wade. At least not in the living room or bedroom. The bathroom door was closed. That was ominous, usually they left it ajar. He took a deeper sniff and then his blood froze in his veins.

Somebody had shot a gun in the apartment only a few moments previously, because the smell still lingered. His stomach dropped into his knees, because he guessed what he would find by opening the bathroom door. He wasn’t wrong: Wade was lying in the bathtub. He was in his full uniform, boots and all. A gun he had used to shoot himself into the head was still in his grasp. There was not much blood. Wade had used a small caliber gun and a silencer, not to make himself a spectacle.

For a moment Peter didn’t know what to do. Should he go and pretend he hadn’t seen the scene? Wade hadn’t wanted him to know. They were not meant to meet today, and Wade had cleaned apartment beforehand. If that wasn’t a new weird hobby of his, the cleaning frenzy had been to get an alibi for that thorough rub job he was going to give to the bathroom after he woke up.

Relationships were tricky business. More secrets, more problems. Perhaps it would do them good to learn to be open about painful or embarrassing things. Peter looked at Wade and knew he couldn’t leave him like that. Not alone in the bathroom like some sad dead narc. Wade had sometimes tried to explain how his brains itched for a bullet. It was an addiction of some kind, to escape the chaos which was his mind. And this time it had been partly Peter’s fault. Too much too soon. Their relationship, the play with their masks, and then he had to add Wade’s confusion by talking about marriage like some over-eager bride.

“Oh my Panda Bear”, Peter sighed. He had to swallow a few times to get rid of a sudden sadness which made his throat ache. He went to the closet and took a rubber sheet, which was usually used for more pleasurable moments than trying to make his dead boyfriend comfortable. He made the bed and returned to the bathroom, stripped Wade from his clothes and yes, from his mask also to take a better look at his wound.

It had been a classic, clean shot through the forehead. The bullet was still inside Wade’s skull, though, and it took Peter some fifteen minutes to get it out. He didn’t know if Wade had other bullets in his body, but this one wouldn’t made hassle in the metal detectors.

He washed Wade and pulled a clean mask over his face, wrapped him in towels and a bathrobe, before he carried him to the bedroom. Peter hesitated a moment, but then he took also his own clothes off, leaving only his mask. He crawled besides Wade, tucking the top sheet around them. With such a minor injury it would take only a few hours and Wade would wake up.


	13. Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve surprises Spidey in Peter’s apartment and shows us what one of the greatest strategist minds of his generation can accomplish. Is Peter’s secret finally relieved?

Those cupcakes had to be full of aphrodisiac. Or maybe they were some of Peter’s wacky science experiment, but somehow they always lead them to this. Or not exactly this particular scene, because Tony was like a greedy kid, always on his back and waiting to be served. Not that Steve had minded that. He didn’t mind that one bit, so what was there to complain?

Perhaps it felt so good because it was more rare. Like a feast you got only in a special occasion. Steve was on his knees on the bed, his hands kept on the bed post. His thigh muscles trembled as Tony’s clever and strong tongue made unspeakable things inside him. Tony finger’s pulling his cheeks apart like a man was trying to dive face first into Steve. Steve bit his lips bloody, not to moan like a lady of the night, but it felt so good he was playing a losing game there.

“Steve, darling. Let me hear you. Let me hear what feels good for you. Put your head down and look at yourself, how you are leaking for me.”

He made a mistake to take a quick glimpse. He was so hard it was bordering pain, and Tony used his distraction as on opportunity. Two slick fingers were pushed into his hole. Steve’s shout was one part surprise and two parts pleasure as Tony found right way the familiar spot. His fingertips crooked, just a bit, teasing, annoying, until Steve growled at him.

“Patience, dear”, Tony admonished him. “You like this, don’t you? You like something in here, but is this enough for a big soldier boy like you? Would you like something more? Wanted me to go on faster? You have to only say so. I’m better than you favorite dildo, am I not?”

Steve had no favorite dildo, or a dildo of any kind. He preferred Tony.

“Oh, is that so?” Tony continued his teasing, pulling his fingers out and then dipping them back in, three of them this time. “I am the best, am I? Even better than that big, fleshy, moving one with those delicious little pumps in its surface.”

Oh that impossible man! Always so greedy for praise, and why not. Tony scissored his fingers, finally starting to make room for his rod, while his other hand was busy touching Steve’s neck and jaw, pushing his fist into Steve’s mouth. How come something was so uncomfortable as an idea and so erotic as a real thing. It was slimy and not pretty, drool dripping and wetting the sheet, and one time Steve had accidentally bitten Tony too hard, but the feeling of Tony’s fingers in his tongue, that steady tension in his jaw muscles made those things happening in his other end feel even more intense. When they were like this, Tony never touched his dick or balls. What an agony it was again! Steve was ready to collapse on the bed and hump the mattress, when Tony’s hand in his mouth tensed and he pushed himself balls deep into Steve.

The fist moved from his mouth to his neck, and Steve let himself to be guided down, face first on his pillow. The angle was better that way. But of course that annoying man needed some begging to continue his movements. It was not a riddle why Tony Stark liked to be on his back. Or against the wall. Or in Steve’s lap, Steve’s dick deep inside his hole. It felt so good, and after Steve had begged and moaned Tony to move faster, he made a few promises of his own. How he would hop out of the bed, drag Tony to the gym and make him do burpees until his grandchildren puked their guts out. That’s if Tony didn’t stop teasing him and started servicing like right now.

The Captain Voice always did the trick. Tony let out moans of his own and did as Steve had told him to do. One good thing when a man got older, as Tony had told him, was that he lasted and lasted, even if Steve had deduced some sadness in Tony’s words.

“Fuck, Rogers”, Tony huffed, when they finally lay sweaty and out of breath on the bed. “How I hate pushy bottoms.”

“Sure you do. Probably because you are always so shy and docile yourself.”

Tony let out a brief snicker and pushed himself under his arm. Steve tensed. Tony always said how he was not a cuddler, but for some reason he had decided to use one of Steve’s mighty pecs as his pillow.

“This was something else”, Tony sighed, his lids half-closed and a satisfied smile playing on his lips. “Do you recall our first times?”

How Steve could ever forget? He had been so unsure what he wanted and what to do to get it, he had hardly dared to touch Tony. How he had been sure he had blown it with his hair trigger dick and tenuous stamina. He had soon learned how his uncanny short refractory period covered lots of personal defects, and those other things just needed some practice.

Tony’s head against his chest. That would be a good memory, Steve mused after he was again in his own quarters. How a man could be dying of pleasure and of a broken heart at the same time?

_Just make it so_ , Steve admonished himself. How many times had he decided to stop being intimate with Tony and still hopped back to his bed like an eager puppy dog?

The days during his sick leave, that had been so fine, so sweet, but they had also made him realize there was only one way to get away from Tony. Steve had to leave the tower and probably his team too. All the people he called friends. Or not even that, but his family.

But this couldn’t go on. It just couldn’t. Steve felt so cheap and stupid. So broken inside. Why couldn’t he be like all those modern men? Why couldn’t he be like Tony who saw and took and cared nothing about with whom he was if it felt good? Steve had been a crappy choice for an idol of the nation, but now it seemed he didn’t know how to be a proper deviant either.

He shouldn’t use toxic words about himself or the others, his therapist would have said. And there wasn’t only one way to be a proper gay man, the man would have continued.

Yeah, right. Steve had dreamed so long to be like everybody else, and now when he in theory could be just that, he was a freak again. These people and their open marriages were a new normal, when all he wanted was…

Tony. He wanted Tony. Only Tony, and he wanted Tony to want only him, which was a bad thought. As his therapist had said, he could only moderate his own behavior, not Tony’s. Sometimes love wasn’t enough reason for a relationship, the partners needed too different things to be comparable.

Which had brought him to the problem at hand. The Avengers didn’t need Steve Rogers, but they needed Captain America. For that Steve had a solid plan. He should talk with Sam and the easiest part of his new arrangement would be over.

There was a little hitch in his fine idea. His first friend in this brave new world wasn’t honored and keen to take on the colors of their nation. On the contrary. Sam Wilson aka Falcon looked at him like Steve was having a psychotic episode.

“Steve, no way! Don’t you remember how we tried to throw that plate of yours! I have always been crappy at the pool table. There is no way I will learn to calculate those angles in my head like you do. And to dress up in the flag… what if I screw up? Steve, times have not changed that much.”

“Why are you so quick to say you will screw up?”

“Steve, old buddy, it is not ten points from Sam Wilson or the Avengers, if I blow it as Captain America. An African-American man as a symbol of the nation? That is a pipe dream, Steve, and our whole community will suffer with me when it comes crashing down. Do people of my generation even have a right to carry that shield? I’ve never been a soldier, Steve. I haven’t been in the war.”

_C_ _ontroversial_. How Steve had learned to hate that world. Sam was a good man and had been a hero of his own right long before he was part of the Avengers. Steve understood his worries though. He himself had proved his worth many times over, but after he came out of the closet… there had been lots of people who said he was not good enough to carry the mantel of Captain America anymore.

Alright. Nowadays it usually required a woman to do a man’s job anyway. Maybe he should contact America Chavez and ask if she would be ready to leave West Coast Avengers?

Then there were more personal things to consider. Tony would be unhappy to lose a daily contact with his friend and teammate, and Steve didn’t want to be dick about things which were not Tony’s fault. If he got Tony’s boy, Peter, to see his point of view in the matter, their transit would go much smoother.

Peter hadn’t been in the tower for a few days now. They all knew the boy had found somebody of interest, and was so smitten they could allure him away from his microscopes and studies. Steve was happy for him, if a bit jealous. Even Natasha had respected Pete’s privacy and didn’t try to snoop, even if Clint had tried to get her on board with his own investigations.

So Peter’s apartment was off limits for the Avengers. But Steve was not here trying to spy on the kid, he had to come in person, because he didn’t want to speak his piece on the phone and his normal eloquence failed him as he thought leaving the message. That was why Steve found himself outside Peter’s apartment door, ready to knock, when he heard a familiar voice. He froze a hand in the air and listened, but he had gotten it right the first time. The high-pitched tittering turning into a growl which would have scared an adult tiger was too easy to recognize.

Steve’s first instinct was to kick the door open, but if Wade Wilson was really inside the apartment with Pete, there was no way to predict how the madman would react to his forced entry. Steve didn’t want Peter to get hurt. Deadpool was an avid admirer of Captain America, but Steve was in his civvies, which included his favorite blue jeans and a motorbike leather jacket. He looked more like a beach boy jock than a hero of the nation. So Steve calmed himself down and knocked, his heart in his throat. This was what they nowadays called teenage rebellion, Steve guessed, Peter picking up the only man who would drive Tony up the wall only by existing in the same universe with him.

But when the door finally opened, Steve was going to be surprised the second time. There was no Peter Stark in sight, at the door stood Spider-Man. Not amazing this time, more like annoyed.

“Spidey! I was looking… Where is Peter?”

“Well, not here”, Spider said. “Is he lost or something?”

“No, no. I just wanted to talk with him… But what are you two doing here?”

If one could say the mask leered that was what Spidey’s was doing right now. It should have been the last piece in a puzzle which was Peter Stark, but the brain was a wondrous, fickle thing. Sometimes you made conclusions like a champ and sometimes not. Like every member of the Avengers, Steve was too soaked up with Peter’s act as a timid nerd and his constant failures in anything physical the obvious deduction escaped his great strategic mind.

“Something I can’t be doing in the tower”, Spidey drawled. Behind the wall-crawler Steve got a brief glimpse of naked Wade Wilson with only whipped scream concealing his nasty parts. That was a sight which would take some time to rub off from the retinas. “Pete was nice enough to borrow us this place while Wade’s is under construction.”

“Oh well… Did he ask you about Daredevil?”

“Yes, but I have no way to contact him, sorry. We are not actual buddies or anything. Didn’t he tell you that?”

Peter had sent them a message, but Steve had hoped the boy had just forgotten the task and then tried to scam his way out of their questions.

“Sorry about the interruption, Spidey. Wade”, Steve asked politely. Then because he was still a tad confused and spooked, he concluded, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Kinky”, Spidey laughed and pushed the door close.


	14. Matt (and Herman too)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt’s quest against Herman gets an unexpected and embarrassing turn after meeting one particular Avenger babysitter.

Matt was becoming crazy. Or perhaps he had somehow traveled to the different universe.

When he had slunk home after the first incident, he had been determined to return. Perhaps he couldn’t talk with Iron Man or the Avengers what the hell was going on, but there was the perp. He had to have some knowledge why superheroes suddenly acted like overeager baby-sitters.

He had returned to his scene of crime next evening, and it was like the perp had expected his move. Probably he was.

It wasn’t Iron Man this time. Matt was crossing the street some 50 yards from the perp’s home, ready to sneak into the shadows of the tall building and parkour to his spot when there was a mighty boom and a shocking pulse of warmth on the lower part of his face which wasn’t covered with a mask. An electric smell lingered in the air and Matt’s body hair stood up under his uniform. He didn’t need his vision to tell him the lighting had hit on the ground somewhere in his proximity.

There was only one conclusion to be make. Matt reached up with his senses and detached a human form, far up and floating in the air. He half-heartily hoped it would be Falcon with a ray gun, or at least somebody else than the blond pagan god with a hammer complex, but no such a luck.

Stark had made something to the perimeter, because Matt soon learned he wasn’t able to get near the perp’s apartment building without tricking a hidden silent alarm. Knowing Stark’s delight with his sci-fi toys, Matt had no means to make any countermeasure. He was played out like a helpless child, and the situation made Matt extremely cranky as a lonely pusher and a bunch of would-be gang rapers noticed in his way home.

Matt wasn’t the only one tired of this cat-and mouse play. It was the fourth night he stubbornly hanged around to wait what would happen, and he didn’t have to wait for long. It was Hawkeye’s turn.

“Sorry”, Barton shouted, but didn’t cease to shoot his arrows. They raced over the rooftops, circling the perimeter, and even Matt’s considerable skills and stamina were in their limits after the archer finally decided Matt was far enough from his protegee. Matt had thought he and Barton had an understanding in many things, and now this. No explanations, nothing more than throwing stars and other sharp metal thingies filling the air.

But honestly speaking, what was this? Were they blackmailed? Mind controlled? He had seriously considered trying to find Spider-Man and ask him what the heck was going on, but Spidey was nowadays one of the big league. If there was something wrong with the Avengers, it would affect also the wall-crawler.

Matt’s thoughts were interrupted when he heard a shout. It was near enough to rattle his senses, only a half a block way. A woman, Matt realized when he run towards the sound. The noise was abruptly halted when he got onto the roof of the building next to the alley, and Matt prayed he wasn’t too late. There were two dark shapes, and then his gut fell to his thighs, because he had heard a familiar beat next to the woman’s, whose heart rate was like a scared bird’s.

“Let go of her”, he growled and jumped on the man, who wasn’t nobody else than Herman Schultz himself. The woman, was she the one he had claimed to be his sister?

Matt had no time to ask questions. The woman he was about to rescue hit his solar plexus, and Matt swayed back a whimper on his lips. The pain was washed away when an electric discharge surged through his body. Before he slumped down unconscious Matt realized a few things. That this set up had been a trap was now obvious, but the fact he hadn’t known before this day was he referred Thor’s lighting bolts to Black Widow’s electric bracelets, and that was lot to be said about the latter.

When he come into his senses, he wasn’t in the alley anymore. It was a room. He was sitting in the sturdy chair and tied up in a way he would have to be Houdini to get away from his bonds.

“He is awake”, the woman said. Matt had already deduced her as a member of the Avengers, and he hadn’t been wrong. He wondered if she knew about his ability to hear person’s heart rate, or had that been only a part of her act. She was a world-class spy and assassin, so it made sense her performance was perfect.

“Play nice, boys. You don’t want me to come back here and act as your referee.”

She slipped from the window, closing the thing behind her. Some minute after Matt heard the whine of Quinjet’s motors, and then he was alone with Herman Schultz, a luckless bank robber turned into more successful sexual predator. Should Matt feel lucky the perp was only after middle school aged boys, or was that too morbid a though?

*

There were of course plenty of heroes with no actual superpowers. Like Hawkeye or Black Widow. Or Daredevil. They were not like Spider-Man or Thor who always hold back, otherwise they would kill somebody. Devil hit like a normal human being which meant he hit like a tall and fit guy who knew the best techniques to use.

And that, my friends, hurt like hell. Even a memory of the beating Herman had gotten at that first night made him extremely cautious with a guy.

“What is wrong with you?” The man bound like a stuffed turkey in his kitchen chair continued his silent fuming, but didn’t show any indication he wanted to engage in conversation with Herman. “I have never even met you when I was wearing a costume. Why are you on my case? Is it about my old stuff? Did I hurt somebody during those robberies? A guard got chest pains because of suspense and died of a heart attack a few days after? My fight with Spidey got a bystander lose the control of his car? What?”

A light adjustment of the head was the first sign the guy was listening. A slow smirk creeping over his lips didn’t look promising though. It was like the man was already pondering which kick, hit or hold was the most painful in his arsenal, and in what order he would use them in Herman when he got out of his handcuffs. No wonder his old bar buddies could talk about their almost victories against Captain America or Falcon, but nobody ever told similar stories about Daredevil. Everyone would have known the guy was lying.

“You have wondered that a lot.”

It wasn’t a question, but Herman answered anyway. “Self-awareness is a huge part of the therapy they give you in prison. The goal is to learn to think how one’s own actions affects to people around you. Nobody ever told me you are a psychopath, so I am wondering if this all is just some big misunderstanding.”

“Is that so.”

Herman shouldn’t care about that growl which made shivers go down his spine and not wholly in an unpleasant way. Daredevil in his dark red bodyarmor constructed a nice figure and what part of his face was in display, showed he was also very handsome. “I presume you use informants like police and journalists do. They are targeted you wrong this time, and you should ask yourself why. There is somebody who wants me dead to conceal the crimes they has committed. You are supposed to be a hero, not a hitman, doing the dirty work for the criminals.”

Herman took a thin briefcase Natasha had left for them. He opened it, showing Devil a stack of papers. “Perhaps you recognized the lady who was with us. Natasha Romanoff aka Black Widow. She left this SHIELD case file. I was supposed to give this to you after you calmed down a bit. Care to check out what this is all about?”

Devil turned his head away, not looking at the papers Herman was now holding in a good reading distance. Something had bothered Herman this whole time, a deja vu from his past. There had been an old lady keeping a grocery store with her daughter. She was blind, but one didn’t notice it from the way she moved between the shelves. Keeping her head stilted as if listening what the noises and movement would tell her.

_This can’t be happening_ , Herman thought. This wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be happening to him twice, first Spidey and now the Devil of Bronx. But there it was, in front of his very eyes, and yes, pun indented. He had called Nelson and Murdoch, and gotten Daredevil after his ass almost immediately. And now the papers. Devil didn’t look at them, because he didn’t see, and all-mighty Internet had told him Matt Murdoch was blind.

“What’s the matter, Shocker? You pulled my mask off, didn’t you? Are you starting to realize it was a mistake?”

That guy should do something to that creepy-ass smile, or Herman was going to give himself a boner, here and now.

“I hope you lot stopped calling me that”, Herman asked. “I always knew lawyers are sharks, but devils too... Look, I didn’t need to touch your private parts. Your gear works in the dark alleys mighty fine, but you are now in a brightly lit room. You even has a little scar in your lower lip like you have in the pictures. How on earth have you managed to pull this off so long? If you want to keep your identity secret, why don’t you use a whole mask like Spidey?”

“What do you think?”

“Your growl sounds better? You like to show them some teeth, shark?”

“And does it work?”

What the hell Herman was doing? Flirting with Daredevil? Did he really wanted to have his face kicked in that bad?

“It does, doesn’t it”, Devil, or Matt Murdoch, said. “Healthy people don’t pay attention to invalids. They look away as fast as they can. Those people who look more closely I don’t meet in my other work clothes.”

They had that in common at least. Herman had also been invisible until he wasn’t of course. Yellow was a uniform color which really stood out.

“Look, I thought you could read this and act all embarrassed afterward, but now we need to translate this into braille. I have no means to do that, so this little bondage session of ours is fast losing a point. Those handcuffs have a timer. When I push this button”, Herman said meaning an app in his phone. “Alright, now they will open after fifteen minutes. Enough time for me to get away from under your fists, Stark indented. Except we are now in my apartment. So I am not going to run, but do myself some late supper.”

He underlined his words by taking a frying pan. “I don’t mind awkward silence. It’s better that way, let me time to watch this cooking video. It’s a chicken dish. Didn’t look too complicated when I checked it out earlier, and nothing can taste bad with lots of cheese, right?”

The video lasted only little over minute. Covering the chicken breasts with flour, lemon juice, cheese and garlic mix took another four, six minutes for heating the pan and searing the meat until it turned golden. About four minutes left. Herman removed the chickens and turned the heat to medium, added butter and garlic which took a minute, wilting the spinach another one. Only one minute left.

Herman turned the heat off. He didn’t want to burn his dish if things got complicated with Devil. There was a loud clank when handcuffs dropped on the floor. “Do you need help with your legs?” he asked to be polite, because Devil really didn’t. Need help, or anything else but Herman’s head on the plate.

Devil grabbed Herman’s jaw with so much force he felt his teeth wobble. “Do you feel protected now?” he growled. “I don’t care about the deal you have with SHIELD. I am not a government lapdog. I wonder what they would do if I saved time for all of us and snapped your neck.”

“I thought you don’t kill”, Herman managed to croak from between his aching teeth. “Barton said it is your code.”

That made Devil push Herman’s head back a little more until the pain made tears run along his cheeks. “Whatever use SHIELD has for you, they don’t need your moving parts. I can broke your spine, so you will lose function of your arms, feet, and bladder. You’ll never harm anybody ever again.”

Pleading could be seen as a confession so Herman kept his silence. As soon as the torturing grip was closed around his jaw it was gone again, like Daredevil and the briefcase Herman had left on the table. Herman took a kitchen towel and wrapped it around a pack of frozen vegetables, pushing the package against his aching jaw and neck.

God, that had been a close call! And he was still sporting a half boner. Herman said to himself it was just adrenaline.


	15. Peter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spidey going against Whiplash doesn’t stay PG.

When Wade woke up from his latest brain reset, he had no memory he had shot himself dead a few hours earlier. Peter didn’t have heart to sore the mood and start talking about the problem right away. Why not some recreational sex instead and then as a dessert some hassle with villains who were capable to embarrass themselves without his help, but hey, friendly neighborhood Spider-Man.

There he was on the roof, near the Italian hole in the wall place which was Wade’s favorite. Peter knew they had to talk and he considered if he stuffed Wade with food he would be more willing to hear him out. That was the plan, but then there was a massive crash and a car flying in the air, and people were running and screaming. Peter swallowed rest of his energy bar with haste and hurried towards the ruckus. He waited to see Rhino team-upping with some other big league bad guy, but wasn’t he on the road to surprise.

It was only Whiplash, the scary neighborhood Dom. Peter flinched. He knew exactly how they would look like in those drone cameras. Clint didn’t need any additional material for his jokes about the encounter. A bad guy with two whips who dressed as this was another one of his late night BDSM scenes. Black leather commando mask with a zipper on his mouth, black leather trousers, and lots of leather cords instead of shirt. Perky nipples… sorry. Not sorry, but hey, every time Peter saw the guy he waited to see some piercing. 

“This really creeps me out, but I am getting an odd craving to call you Master.”

Whiplash’s answer was to hurl his whip to his general proximity. Peter shot a web into his face. Too bad Whiplash was faster and got one of his whips on the way. Peter had no time to make a repeat performance, there were still civilians and vehicles between them. Peter made a fast web barrier and then he let his web jolt him so high it was easy to jump behind the guy. Peter grabbed a hold of the weapons, readying to pull them out of Whiplash’s reach, when an electric discharge run through his body, disrupting his suit computer. Not that he needed the tech, it was just a nice add, but Christ, what was with this electricity thing? He hoped Electro would sue a trademark violation.

The discharge was not strong enough to leave him unconscious, and when he was awake his mouth was also moving. “Really, I have to thank you for a free sample, but when I now have had time to consider, this is certainly not my thing. I have too much nervous energy I could really calm down and get into the subspace. And don’t take this as a body shaming or anything, but you look very dungeonesque. Shouldn't t you be in your home cave doing this behind the closed doors and not here in the street with all those little kids watching? You look nothing like a cool cartoon character as your truly.”

It was all in vain, of course. Mark Scarlotti, because that was his name, had owned serious mental problems for a long time now, and what Peter could pierce together from his ramblings between their hits and kicks, he was after some woman, who had kidnapped his son. His communication app malfunctioning Peter had no way to verify. What he remembered from his dad’s tales, Scarlotti’s wife was murdered and his son was in the foster care, because of his father’s obvious difficulties to keep his head together. But true or not that was a serious matter and curdled Peter’s next jokes, and for some reason also his attention because Whiplash got one through.

Did you people know the tip of the whip can reach speeds more than 30 times the initial speed? True story! But don’t take my word of it, read it yourself in Scientific American.

You did imagine the occasion? Good. Now imagine that tip hit your face, a little bit above your jaw and then ripping its trail along your cheek and ending in your eye. Imagine your skin slit open and a wasp with a huge stinger stabbing you into the eyeball. And when you are half blind of initial impact and blood the whip smears all over your face, you see a red blur rushing by and know what will happen if you don’t ignore pain and fear of going blind and get your shit together like right now.

“Wade, no! Don’t!”

His eye leaking water and hopefully not other fluids made his vision blurry, but shooting his web was nowadays more an act of instinct than precision. The web landed where he had meant to hit and he pulled, making Wade fly backward and end on his ass just before his katanas were to bury themselves into Whiplash’s body. Several fast web shots clued Whiplash spread eagle on the side of the wrecked van.

“Wade, he is sick. He thought I am preventing him to get to his kid.”

Peter’s hasty explanation halted the mercenary who was about to continue his aborted action, not caring his adversary was now helpless. “Kid where?” Wade wondered, looking around. “Yes, thanks Honey Punch. It is a bad form to kill a daddy in front of his kids! That is how generations long vendettas usually begin.”

Wade pushed his katanas back to the sheaths. Peter sighed in relief. Now he could let the pain in, try to decide how badly he was hurt. His whole face felt numb. It had to be the combination of the electricity and the sharp tip, which had really messed up his cheek. It had to be bad, because his still blurry vision caught the way Wade froze while looking at him. The mercenary yelped and then the strangest thing happened. Wade hesitated only a few seconds, but then he pulled his mask off, revealing his face.

“Baby Boy! Wardrobe malfunction!”

Peter understood what was happening after Wade tried to pull his own mask over his head. He touched his face. The left lens covering his eye was gone and the mask had been sliced open revealing half of his face. And Wade tried to cover him. His heart swelled with pride and love of his boyfriend’s courage. He knew Wade didn’t hate anything more than people seeing his face and there he was, exposing himself for Peter’s benefit. It was an endearing gesture, but Peter knew there were already too many pictures and videos taken from the spot. He was too well-known as Tony’s son. Milk had been spilled and now there was nothing more to do than to clean the floor.

For a moment he felt an odd sadness. He felt betrayed. He had imagined this moment before, but it was always after some epic fight with Juggernaut or some other impossible adversary. Not just a freak accident after webbing a powerless mental patient.

“Thanks, Muffin, but keep it. I am good.”

Peter pushed Wade’s hands down and let go. Wade didn’t try to cover him again, but stood exceptionally still, trying to decide his next action. There was a deep sigh and then the merc pushed his mask into one of his many pockets. “Alright, Baby Boy. If not you, me neither.”

Wade cupped his cheek with his glove-covered hand and bent forward. He didn’t try to kiss Peter, but took a closer look at his eye, pushing a swollen skin out of the way for a better view.

“Leaks quite a lot. It looks just a scratch. Have I told you about that time, there was this explosion and both of my eyeballs where pushed out of the sockets? There I was, rolling my eyes on my palm so I would see something and trying to shoot at the same time. Happily those guerrilla drug farmers killed me after a few minutes. It was the fifth embarrassing moment in my career, more so than...”

Peter pushed his palm briefly over Wade’s mouth. The merc interrupted his ramblings.

“Wade, are we good?”

Wade nodded, his eyes not quite looking straight at Peter’s. “I always forgets the best parts, but… For some reason I recognized you right away. You are the cute lab assistant I tried to flirt with when I still had an access to the Stark Tower. Tony’s boy. Is this… are you…”

Peter watched in a raising anxiousness how his loud, obnoxious, and unstoppable boyfriend stammered lost with words. “Tony… he hates me, and I don’t mean in the adorable way Steve or Clint does. He really, really hates me. So… this is some revenge thing? You have been hanging with me to make your dad pissed off?”

Wade’s face had sunken in itself showing he had already chosen the most plausible explanation.

“No Wade”, Peter claimed, grabbing a hold of Wade’s neck and pushing their heads together. Perhaps Wade’s idea had purred in the back of Peter’s mind at the beginning of their relationship, but it was now so far from his thoughts Peter didn’t even remember the occasion. “Wade, that would be fucked up. Please, don’t belittle me or yourself like that. It is the other way round. Tony hates you because you scare the shit out of him by being mates with his favorite young superhero and then hitting on his dear geek boy. For him I will always be a ten-years-old, and little kids shouldn’t play with big bad mercs who run sharp thingies in their hands.”

The SHIELD Quinjet had arrived on a scene, but it didn’t land, hovering some twenty yards over their heads. It wasn’t a clean up team but Aunt Natasha, ready to give him a lift home.

“Sorry, Wade Bunny. I have to head to the tower to sort out this mess. One for the road?”

Wade closed his eyes. When he opened them again, there were a few tears leaking over his cheek. Their first kiss their faces naked was shared with the whole world like was good and proper to Peter’s social media generation. He separated himself from Wade and hopped on the wall of the nearest building, run along until he was high enough. Then he launched his web and swung to the roof of the Jet. Aunt Natasha didn’t wait him to get inside before they were on the move and Peter referred it that way. His phone was ruined with the rest of his mask tech. He would have a few minutes to gather his thoughts before confronting his dad and the rest of his family as Peter Stark, the Amazing Spider-Man.


	16. Matt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt starts to prepare Herman’s case and meets the man in his civvies for the first time.

“Matt, you didn’t go after Schultz, did you? You didn’t do anything to him. He is alright.”

Foggy’s questions were more like pleads and no wonder. Matt too had read SHIELD files and understood Foggy’s apprehension. When the justice system didn’t work, Matt became frustrated. That was why he run over the rooftops in his Halloween costume, but that was not the point this time.

His stomach cramped when he pondered what would have happened if he had acted according to his basic instincts. Herman Schultz would be paralyzed for life, maybe dead, and Matt would have to life his life knowing he had done the deed, to one of the innocents he had worn to protect from the defects of the system.

 _48 mediclips_ , the papers had said. It was a staggering number when any other similar cases Matt knew about didn’t have half of that amount. Herman Schultz had suffered severe damage to the memory and emotional centers of his brain. There was a clinically worded summary from every foul scenario he was forced to carry around his head. Matt felt sick after reading the first two, but he managed all of them. A tiny task compared to what Schultz was still going through. Years of therapy and misery ahead, an individual tragedy for sure, but SHIELD must have knowledge about something bigger. Schultz had said he was used as a trap, and that seemed to be a case. But there was no way the authorities would go through all this trouble because of a lone rogue psychic and a victim, who hadn’t been a model citizen himself. Herman Schultz had to be a valuable piece in the puzzle investigators had tried to collect for a long time.

What had happen to Schultz in prison, under the watchful eyes of the authorities, was scandalous. For that only, Matt and Foggy could sue somebody’s ass bare. Then there was a registration act, which brought them to their present situation. Matt knew the regulations and even if he had questioned their sensibility a few times, never before the unfairness of this particular act had illuminated itself to him so clearly. This could be a breakthrough example to get the practice changed. A true feather in a cap for any new law firm out there. Like Nelson & Murdoch in Bronx.

Foggy dived into the work with Karen. They had to go through the official records and interviews, try to find other cases where victims of the crime were forced to go through the registration act, because this one had all the markings for an air-tight class action. Negotiating with a potential main client would have helped greatly, but Schultz didn’t answer his phone even if both Matt and Karen tried several times.

When Karen was at the bathroom break Matt aired his worry to Foggy. “Oh yes”, his friend huffed. “Like those lightnings and arrows and tech handcuffs didn’t tell us Schultz is well covered in the bodyguard department.”

He had confessed to Foggy. Of course he had. He didn’t tell him Schultz knew his secret identity. Foggy could sometimes get overprotective and jealous. His best mate was now giving him a hairy eyeball and then he ordered Matt to get his ass out of the door and do some old-fashioned leg work. Foggy and Karen wouldn’t do any more digging before Matt had their client’s permission.

That was why Matt found himself in his civvies, in a broad daylight, standing outside of Herman Schultz’s front door. Which was open. Matt tensed immediately and grabbed his white stick, which could act as a baton if he wanted it to be. But Schultz was alone in the apartment. His heart was calm, and Matt realized the door was ajar only because of ventilation. The apartment smelled strongly of chemicals. Paint and plaster, and some cleaning product, which overloaded Matt’s senses as he went inside.

The corridor besides the kitchen was full of removed furniture. The plastic cover made whooshing sound as Matt walked over it. Herman Schultz was painting a living room wall. He had headphones and he hummed and nodded in a tune of music which only him and Matt heard. Some country channel.

Maybe it was his shadow. The guy turned and took a hasty sidestep which made him collide with the paint bucket.

“Jesus!”

He put his brush down and took his headphones off. “Or the opposite”, he mumbled. “I almost got a heart attack. What’s up?”

Suddenly Matt felt foolish. _Sorry I_ _beat you up_ sounded inadequate. Talking about millions of dollars settlement money wouldn’t ease the path enough when he was about to tie the man to a lawsuit which would go on for years and bring every sordid detail of his suffering to the public limelight.

“Is this the part you feel embarrassed?”

“I think so”, Matt admitted. “I tried to call.”

“I listened to radio with my headphones. Had to miss it. Take a chair… Do you want something to drink?”

“No thank you. My partner and I would have wanted to talk with you in our office.”

“Whatever for? You wanted your guide dog to have a taste of me too?”

Matt and Foggy had realized with a delay Schultz didn’t know he was now a registered sex offender because of the scenes the traffickers has stored into his head. Matt had wondered if the Avengers knew either. SHIELD had really screwed them over.

Telling his to-be client the news went as good as was expected. Matt of course didn’t see Schultz’s expressions, but his heart spiked and a smell of his perspiration hit Matt’s nostrils until it was covered under those stronger chemical odors.

“Nice to be informed. Now I at least know what is going on when the first graffiti appears on my door and packages of excrement are filling my mailbox.”

Matt didn’t try to offer consolation or argue it wouldn’t happen. They both knew it was only a matter of time.

“We should use this intermezzo by thinking our strategy.”

“No”, Herman said, shutting the paint jar. “I will need some coffee first.”

He went to the kitchen, and Matt followed. He sat on the same chair Black Widow had tied him, smelling the coffee beans when Herman opened the jar and filled the machine. Real beans, Matt realized. The machine was grinding them.

“Is this your angle? Find charity cases and hit and hug by turns? Are you that disappointed in our justice system?”

“Not really.” He really wasn’t. “Just sometimes there are… holes.”

“Where your fist fits, huh? You don’t have a feel of a bored rich boy playing a hero. You air like me, somebody how have lived in the ‘hood. A personal tragedy?”

“Something like that.”

Herman had gotten his brush washed. It was dripping water on the table. He took some paper and wiped spatter away. “You are very tight-lipped. I am not going to tell about you, you know. Not to Stark, not anybody. Not that my old acquaintances would flock to chat with me. People like me don’t gain popularity by hanging with the Avengers. May I ask a personal question?”

What else Herman had done the last ten minutes? Matt nodded.

“Are you a sadist?”

That was not the one Matt had expected. “Excuse me?”

“I mean do you gain joy when you hurt people?”

“If by joy you mean sexual satisfaction… No.”

Definitely no. But Herman didn’t need to know that. Matt guessed what turn the conversation would take and he felt his hackles rising.

“Well too bad”, Herman said and Matt heard a smirk in his words. He had sat in front of Matt. He could feel a shoe touching his under the table. “I may be developing some light masochist tendencies.”

Matt had brought devastating news. Herman’s heart rate was still elevated and not by arousal. But Matt wasn’t in the business of pity fucks. Even if the guy didn’t feel bad. Unlike some of his peers he had used prison gym with care. He was muscled but not like those gorilla arms who had dissed their leg days. In Matt’s radar he felt right, he would feel nice pushed against his body too.

Herman wanted something else to think about, but Matt was good just giving pain. Physical or mental.

“You really like to play with fire, Shocker”, Matt sneered, pulling his feet away. “That is too bad. You are not the first one to escape your daily duties to the life of crime. You have to get them tied up to grab a feel? It must have been a riot to be your cell mate.”

That was unfair. And not nice, knowing what Herman carried around his head. His smell changed, now it was fear and nerves mixed with anger. “Little homophobic aren’t we? All guys interested in other guys are certain rapists?”

Matt tilted his head. Herman’s heart was slowing down, which Matt found interesting. The guy had a good self-control.

“So flirting makes you uncomfortable... I will not do it again. Is there anything you could do about the other thing? You said this is all legal. I can’t hardly claim I don’t have a hold of child pornography, when I am forced to watch and live it trice a day.”

“There is lots of we can do. You just have to give us your permission to do our job. I will have some papers made.”

Herman snorted, but the previous, playful under tone was gone. “You like to fight.”

Matt felt a light regret, but said to himself it was better this way. “Yes that I do”, he admitted. “If all goes as we are planning, this will be a precedent. Lots of publicity, which will help us. Are you ready to testify if needed?”

“I suppose. Is this going to make a big bill for Stark?”

“Tony Stark has deep pockets. Don’t worry about him. My associate and I will arrange everything.”


	17. Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve gets more than his share of Tony’s mood when billionaire genius finds out his son is Spider-Man.

It was a catastrophe. Steve had no other way to describe the situation. And no, he didn’t know about Peter and his identity issues, not yet. He was meaning the shield. Or if one wanted to get clinical, the shield and Sam together. Sam hadn’t lied. Steve had never seen so bad performance with his precious salad bowl and there had been dozens of people who had wanted to try it. 

Steve was first relieved when Tony’s frantic voice interrupted them, calling his name through the comm of the training room. He hoped the billionaire genius was only out of his favorite coffee beans, but no such luck as he saw when he hurried towards the kitchen. Natasha was already there with Tony and Peter, who was wearing a Spider-Man suit minus the mask. He sat besides the island while Nat was adjusting butterfly tape on his face.

“Dad! Try to calm down. The mask took most of the impact. My eye is alright. The sight is still a little fuzzy, but otherwise.”

Steve halted. Had he taken a nap again and woken up on Halloween? Peter had decided to dress up as Spider-Man?

No, this was now and it was real. He didn’t need but look at Tony’s devastated expression to realize the fact. Steve remembered how he had stood at Peter’s door like a red, white, and blue idiot. The boy must have been laughing his head off inside his mask. Then Steve recalled with who and in what situation he had surprised Spidey and his insides twisted with a cold threat of apprehension. Luckily Tony was still so shocked about his son’s identity reveal he hadn’t had time to think any other implications of this new situation.

“Oh, hi Steve. Do you mind throwing me something from that fruit bowl next to you? I haven’t had time to eat yet.”

Please let this be a hoax. Perhaps it was was an elaborate prank Pete had cooked up with Clint. Steve picked up an apple and tossed it to the right direction, sure the boy would miss his target. But Peter raised his hand and caught the fruit without looking, using only his fingertips. Those sticky things which enabled Spidey to climb the walls.

“How could you?” Tony wailed. “You are… you have… Pete! You could have died hundreds times!”

“Unlike my dad, you mean.”

The boy had tilted his head back, looking at them from under his lids. His feet had climbed upwards until he was balancing himself on his toes on the edge of the chair like so many times in the Avengers meeting room.

But this time it all was so different. It was Spidey, their mouthy and brash young hero. And at the same time it was Pete, their cuddly little honey crunch.

“That is not”, Tony begin. “I am not…”

“I get it, dad. I will always be your Squirt. But really, I am nineteen already. You can hardly bottle me up while flying into a wormhole riding a nuke, not worrying if you will be blown up or ever come back from some alien dimension.”

That had been five years ago during the Chitauri Invasion. “That… Pete, it was not the same thing. I had to do it. The missile… it would have destroyed New York… All the people...”

“I know somebody had to play hero. But it shouldn’t have to be my one and only dad. I shouldn’t have to sit home watching you from my laptop wondering if I would ever see you alive again and hating my uncles and aunts for doing nothing to help you.”

“Then you started to built your own suit”, Steve ventured. He imagined the horror, the fear the boy must have felt during those too long minutes of Tony’s space adventure. Steve had lived the time when the nation was in the war. In some way going to the battlefield had been easier than sitting home waiting if you would see your loved ones alive ever again. “You didn’t want to be sidelined. You built your own battle gear so you could have your dad’s six.”

“No, Steve. It is not the suit. It is me.”

Steve wasn’t the only one astonished by Peter’s announcement. Natasha’s leaned back like wanting to have a better look of her nephew or the situation overall. Tony started circling the table and his son, observing him from any possible angles.

“You… but you can’t be a mutant. My tests would have…”

“Dad, I have manipulated my medical files since I was five. Remember Ned’s birthday party to which you said I can’t go because of flu? And then suddenly all your instruments showed you my miracle cure? When have you ever trusted your devices less than your own eyes?”

“You were five years old and you calibrated my tests without me noticing?”

Tony sounded proud and horrified at the same time.

“I was rather ill so you were right to say I shouldn’t go. I puked in the bathroom most of the time.”

“So you are a mutant and my test results…”

“Sorry to disappoint, but I have no X-gene. I am a mutate.”

Steve wondered why Tony was suddenly white as a sheet.

“So… this is my… oh God!” Tony yanked his hair, but lifting himself from the bog with your own grip was an impossible task, when you were not a big mouthed con man like _Baron Munchausen._ “It was me. I did this to you with my… radiation… chemicals… cosmic rays… have you…”

P eter had also left his seat and was grabbing his dad, trying to calm his frantic spacing with his touch. 

“Dad, please halt for a second. It was not you. It was Oscorp.”

“O-oscorp? How it could...”

Tony let Peter lead him to the couch in which the billionaire genius slumped. Peter sat down more carefully, keeping his hands on his father’s knees. If he really was the Spider-Man, he was physically able to keep Tony down as easily as a bird would handle a ladybug. “You remember the class trip to the Oscorp labs? One of their test subjects, a spider, escaped and bit me.”

“Norman is dead but it is not too late to sue his son”, Tony hissed. “We will demand millionzillion dollar compensation for your suffering.”

“You like that word.”

“But why didn’t you tell me?”

Tony sounded so betrayed Peter averted his eyes, concentrating on his apple. “Science greed”, the boy mumbled, his mouth full. “First two week I was too intrigued. Then I started to fear I will change into something freakish. When that didn’t happen I realized I didn’t have to wait for a permission to use an Iron Man armor.”

“You had gotten superpowers”, Steve wondered aloud. “Your strength, speed, that thing you said you can foresee danger with.”

“Yes. It was like Christmas and my best Birthday present together. Like I had always wished.”

“But why?” Tony sounded honestly perplexed. “Why did you want superpowers? Did I… I don’t have powers… is this…”

“Everything is not always about you, dad. Or in this case it is. It was like Steve said. I didn’t want to sit home looking at some bystander’s videos of you endangering your life. I wanted to have your back.”

“But I have a team.”

“That you have.” Peter nodded to Natasha and Steve to acknowledge the fact and taking the barb from his next words, “But they are not me. I have invested in you more than them. Or maybe excluding Steve.”

Peter winked at him. Steve started to blush but Tony didn’t notice. His face had blushed too, but not because of embarrassment. Tony’s brows were together and his lips turned into an ugly snarl.

“That is not the point! They are my teammates, not you. You are… not anymore! You are out of the Avengers!”

“I don’t recall when you were voted to be the leader of our team.”

It was a fact, but… Oh crap! Now they were all staring at Steve, expecting a miracle solution.

“This is a confusing and emotional situation”, Steve started. “Let’s not make any drastic decisions. Tony, you would...”

“There is no confusion!” Tony screamed, interrupting Steve’s attempts to be diplomatic. “I will not let my son danger himself! No way! He will be out of that stupid suit like…”

Tony didn’t invent flashy enough simile which raised his blood pressure further. Peter went to the fridge and started shoveling scraps of cold lasagna into his mouth, turning his back to his father’s furious face.

“It is all right Steve”, he mumbled between the bites. “I knew this would happen. Why do you think I kept my identity secret? Dad would have made himself liability by trying to cover me, getting some of us or himself killed.”

All right. They didn’t need a team leader but a referee.

“Now listen, you infuriating, reckless little...”

“Did Tony Stark just call me reckless?”

“He did”, Natasha admitted, not helping.

Peter put the emptied bowl to the sink and opened the tap, letting the dish soak in the water. He flashed at his dad a teasing smile which covered the tense trembling of his jaw muscles. “I thought you hoped your timid nerd son were more sassy and outgoing.”

Tony took a couch pillow and squeezed like he would strangle all his problems away with a single gesture. “I would never… I will take that back.”

“Sorry, dad. The genie has escaped the bottle.” Peter hopped and suddenly he was standing upsides down on the ceiling. The boy wanted to rub Tony’s nose into this new situation. Or remind them all about the outstanding feats Spider had achieved. “Excuse me. I will hit the shower.”

Peter crouched and continued crawling across the wall. He had earned his code name.

“Now wait a minute!”

“Let him go.” Steve put his hand on Tony’s shoulder when it seemed Tony was going to run after his son. “You both need to step back and take a deep…”

Steve’s sound advice wasn’t appreciated. He halted his speech as Tony’s hand slapped his cheek.

“Don’t you start that! You stay out of this!” Tony had pushed his face so near the moisture from his saliva hovered over Steve’s skin. Usually the coffee smell of Tony’s breath carried a comfy and familiar aroma, but now it just smelled stale. “You have no saying how I arrange my family matters! You are not part of our life, you are not even part of this damn time! You have no kids! Go to pest somebody who wants to hear your useless, snotty advises!”

Steve had hardly felt Tony’s hand. Physically the hit had been nothing, but the casual way his friend dismissed Steve as if he was an annoying insect spiraling around his ears hurt so much more. A film of water covering Steve’s eyes felt thicker than usual. He turned his back to Tony, in fear the extra moisture started pouring from his eyes and over his cheeks. He didn’t want Tony’s lips turn into a sneering smile as he saw Steve’s agitation.

“Yes, Tony. You are right.” Because Tony really was. Tony didn’t hear him, he had marched to the elevator, going to his workshop. He would start tinkering with his armors or robots, blasting that hideous noise he called music to calm himself down. Steve too wanted out of there. He hurried towards his own room, but Natasha came after him.

“Steve, Tony is scared and angry. You know he is highly unreasonable when it comes to Peter. When he has time to think what he actually said to you, he will grovel and apologize.”

What ever for? There had been no falsehood in Tony’s words.

Natasha sighed. “Steve, we all know you and Tony are more than friends. He hitting his teammate would have been bad enough, but now...”

Steve hadn’t sustained a life threatening injury from Tony’s sweaty fingers. And there was no relationship between them, it was, what was the phrase? Something like a mutually beneficial arrangement.

Natasha shook her head after hearing his explanation. “It doesn’t seem like that. To me it looks like someone is gaining more about your deal than the other.”

“Well, I apologize I am not totally adjusted myself to these new ways to arrange intimate relationships. As Tony already stated, I am not around this time and age.”

Then it hit him. _Everybody kn_ _ow_ , Natasha had said. No wonder Tony was so sour towards him. He had wanted to keep his little adventure with Steve private. Clint’s stupid jokes wouldn’t endear Tony towards Steve. Oh this was such a mess! And only because Steve couldn’t keep him stupid, wanton body in check! As a team leader people expected more restrained behavior from him.

They had come to Steve’s room. So deep in his thoughts he hadn’t notice when he had started packing.

“Where are you going?”

Where indeed. He had rented a flat in his old hood, but he had given that up after moving to the Stark Tower. He had hoped being physically nearer Tony would make them closer in the other ways too.

“I will crash at Sam’s place. And Nat, this has nothing to do with...”

Steve gestured with his hand to the direction of the kitchen. “This has been long time coming. I have been considering doing something else than being a...” Steve actually didn’t know what he was. A superhero? He didn’t feel so heroic most of the time. “Fury promised he would arrange a scholarship if I want more education, or that was our original deal. I don’t know. Perhaps being a full time student would help me adjust better. We don’t meet so many ordinary people during our normal day at work.”

Natasha listened, but didn’t try to talk him out of his plans. Her silence reminded him how nobody was irreplaceable. Not even Captain America and certainly not Steve Rogers.


	18. Herman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Herman gets an unexpected helper when screening his second mediclip goes badly.
> 
> WARNING! Mention of suicide.

**Before proceeding heed the warning!**

Alright, continue.

Herman was having a bad night. The worst night.

The day had begun fine. He had been in the SHIELD base and those mind doctors had examined him and found the first one of those forty-eight damnable mind clips was so loose they will be able to remove it. So it had been bye-bye Captain Perv and his birthday party spoon plays. The doctors had opened the second clip and he had tried to screen it, first while the psychic present in his mind and then again at home.

Perhaps he had been too cocky. Ms. Jones had warned him he shouldn’t go on too fast. But that thing had already spoiled his childhood birthdays, and Herman was not a stranger to pain. He had gotten fists, feet, and solar blasts into his delicate places. He had suffered through repugnant and painful sex when he had been clubbing and too drunk or high to resist guys who didn’t understand a word no. What would their dirty minds imagine he couldn’t endure?

Did he need to ask?

The images in his head were not random. The criminal psychic had chosen things which Herman liked to get a maximal reaction out of him when the scene turned into a horror show. Herman loved swimming, so of course he ended up choking into the chlorine tasting pool water. In the scene he was a child again, didn’t know how to keep himself from drowning, and he had been so relieved when the supervisor saved him. The super had red, white, and blue colored swimming trunks and a friendly smile on his face as he warned him from the deep end of the pool. Herman would need some lessons before he would be able to enter that one again. Perhaps Herman wanted to practice with him after his shift was over?

Herman was starting to see a pattern in the taste of his original subscriber. First there had to be trust and enthusiasm, so the pain, fear, and betrayal grew deeper. The second time Herman had screened his diving lessons with Captain Perv he had been in the shower, which had been a big mistake. Too similar surroundings hadn’t helped his state of mind, but now he learned his bed wasn’t much better.

He was still between the scary mind world and his real bedroom, when he felt arms surrounding his body. He wasn’t lying on the mattress anymore, more like sitting in the hard and slippery chair. He started to separate how oddly human-shaped his sitting place was. A panic shot through him as he waited for more pain to come. He tried to hit the back of his head to his attackers face, but didn’t meet flesh and bones, only empty air. There was no room to push himself from that iron strong grip, and he clawed uselessly the thighs beneath him.

“Herman… Herman! Stop it! It is me. It is Matt.”

It took some time until those vaguely human noises translated into the coherent words. Matt, who was Matt and why did he feel so familiar? The raspy voice, the stubble on the jaw which was making whisker burns on Herman’s neck right now. It was the Devil. In his bedroom, in the middle of the night. In his uniform. Any other occasion, and Herman would have welcomed the visit, but not like this. Not when he was such a pitiful mess.

“I have good hearing. I was in a patrol and going by. Your heart rate was rising so fast I thought you were under attack. When I got the window open you were banging your head against the bed frame.”

No wonder his head hurt. “Oh… thanks. I just… I have a new mediclip to screen. They are so fucking hard at first.”

“I realized.”

The Devil had let his hold to loose. Herman didn’t move, but lay there, on his slippery, human-shaped chair, and if the vigilante felt himself uncomfortable because of the closeness he didn’t say anything about it or try to push him away.

“Was it the swimming pool scene? You trashed like you were drowning.”

Herman nodded. “May I ask you another favor?”

He had tried to find his sister, but Heather was slippery when she didn’t want to listen to reason. “I thought if you could locate her. And ask her to come home.”

A short puff of breath felt moist on his neck. “You know I can’t drag her here against her will.”

Herman realized that. “It would be no use anyway. But if you mess up the narc flash pimp she lives with she doesn’t have another option.”

“That I can do.” Devil’s purring whisper made cold shivers go down his spine. He had pushed his face so tight on Herman’s cheek Herman felt the smirk creeping over the man’s lips for the prospect to use his fists again.

“Good… that is good”, Herman yelped. He tried to lift himself from the bed, but the arms around his torso tightened with the move. “Listen, Devil. I am alright now. You can let go. That is… you see, I have this really bad uniform fetish, and I have been in prison for a long time. So nothing much than my own hand for years and years… oh God!”

The Devil had slid his glove-covered fingers over his abdomen and grabbed him through his boxers. Oh God, Herman thought. Please don’t let this be a hallucination or some extra material from the mediclip. What the Devil was doing?

“Y-you smell awful nice.”

Dry chuckle made is eardrum vibrate. “You like my sweat and leather? Not going to ask me to take a shower first?”

Those tight muscles under his ass and fingertips. The uniform against his bare skin. Herman wouldn’t have asked Devil to leave if the bed were on fire. The man chuckled again and then bit playfully his neck. It had been such a long time, Herman was already on the edge of an orgasm. Only a thought about that glove covered hand touching his naked cock made him ache. Why the hell Devil had been so hostile when Helmut had tried to flirt and now he was on him like a fly paper? _He doesn’t want to be a target_ , Helmut guessed. _He is turned on when he can boss other people around._

Helmut wasn’t complaining. Not a bit. He felt the hand sliding inside his boxers, teasing touch of the leather and something harder and sharper, the magic material which made those suit at the same time flexible and protecting.

“Oh God...”

The Devil slid his tongue over Herman’s neck muscles. He had been stroking the bulge in Herman’s boxers, and Herman tried to push himself forward, to press harder against that magnificent hand.

“Don’t blaspheme all the time”, the Devil growled, grabbing Herman’s balls like wanting to punish him for his words. It was too much. Herman’s back taunted. He let out a sharp gasp and then he was coming, inside his underwear and all over Devil’s fingers, and wasn’t that the most delicious thought of them all.

Or it would have been, if Herman had some time to enjoy the afterglow. At the same time as he spurted out the first load of his seldom used semen, the window exploded. Or maybe not exploded exactly, but it broke violently when a dark figure jumped right through it and into Herman’s bedroom. Devil was gone in an instant, standing between Herman and the attacker. He had pushed Herman sideways from his lap and Herman ended up on the floor, looking over the mattress, which got him a good view at that incredible booty. The Devil must be doing nothing but squats in his free time. Those kicks and jumps, and how in hell he could throw his baton with any accuracy while moving like that? He was like Cap with a stick and no superpowers.

It would have been the best live action porn ever, looking at two hotties in uniforms trying to kill each others, but after a few hectic seconds Herman realized it had to end. So he stood up, showing he was alright. Agent Romanoff ceased her attack and raised her hands, in an internationally accepted gesture of surrender.

“Well, I said you two should play nice.” One look at Herman had made her realize what had really been going on. “Sorry about the window. Somebody will come to repair it in the morning.”

“How did you...”

Herman knew Stark was observing him with the help of the nanites in his body. So this would happen every time he had some alone fun in the shower?

“Your bodily functions didn’t correspond with your screening patterns. Tony didn’t consider you may be interested in entertaining. Your raising oxytocin and endorphin levels were interpreted as a result of a psychic attack. I will report this and Tony will make proper adjustments into his program.”

Romanoff had taken a step closer while she spoke, which made the Devil raise his stick again.

“I see”, she hummed, flashing them a brief, muted smile. Herman could guess what she thought she saw. The situation didn’t sit right with the Devil whose whole body was still taunt and ready to attack at the moment’s notice. “Daredevil, the SHIELD has a thick file about you. Good things, I assure. We have been planning to invite you into our rooster. What do you think about the idea?”

The siren call of the mighty Avengers! Who would be fool enough to say no when asked to join the elite group of the superpowered community? The familiar, sneering smirk stretched the Devil’s lips. His nose was still bleeding after the Widow’s elbow, but it just added to the eeriness of his expression.

Romanoff took it as the answer it was. She was out of the window sooner than Herman made his shaking legs guide him back on the mattress.

“She knows who I am”, the Devil said slowly. “That was more a threat than an invitation.”

“Paranoid much”, Herman huffed. “Good guys, remember? I will not say you I told you so.”

The creepy smirk was back but this time with some wry amusement thrown in the mix.  “You say to the blind guy his mask  doesn’t cover enough, and  then you  expect him to do something about it.”

They were bantering. Herman had sex with a real life vigilante and now they were ripping each others. God, this was so cool.

“I said you should stop blaspheming.”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You think very loudly.”

“Maybe”, Herman admitted. “But Devil, the Avengers! Even if there is Captain America… He is real nice in a real life, but sure you know. When I met the Avengers he was the only one in civvies. I knew he did it not to make me uncomfortable.”

The Devil snorted like a race horse. “You are such a fan boy.”

“Sure I am”, Herman admitted. “This situation, they didn’t have to be nice about it. I mean, I stabbed Cap. They have every right to do my life even shittier than it already is. I just realized what was more wrong in those scenes… besides that I am like nine years old… that guy. Captain Perv, he doesn’t sound like him. Like real Steve Rogers, I mean.”

But how could it be possible to notice such a thing? Was it something Herman was imagining or was that an echo of the actual subscriber? Could it be that Herman had found a lead?

“Herman, breath, or the Widow will come back thinking I am strangling you.”

His breath was hitching. “No, they have my screening patter, what the hell that is.” His hands were shaking as he smelled a familiar reek he knew was only in his mind. Was it in his mind? Herman looked frantically around, but nobody else had entered the apartment.

“Herman, please calm down.” The Devil sounded agitated. He grabbed his shoulders and somehow it anchored him again, making him remember what was a part of the memory and what the reality.

“He smelled like an old man.”

Herman was sure now. It had been real, not just his imagination. “He didn’t sound… his voice was hoarse, not sexy rough like yours, but like he had been smoking too many cigarettes in a row.”

He tried to grab the memory, milk more details out of it, but the sensation was gone. Herman closed his eyes and pushed his aching head against the board. The mattress gave up under the weight of another body. The Devil had settled down besides him, his right hand resting on Herman’s thigh. Not in a sexual way, but comforting. And wasn’t that a strange thing. He considered Herman not just his quick evening entertainment but somebody worth of his time and trouble.

“Devil?”

“Yes?”

“Have you ever planned killing yourself?”

The Devil didn’t have to think long about his answer. Someones thought things beforehand or they had a set of values they took for granted. Perhaps his own life would be easier that way, Herman realized.

“Not really. I am Catholic. Harming myself wouldn’t solve anything. Only push me deeper in the trouble.”

“You really believe you would go to hell? Just because you are so unhappy or in so much pain you are tired of living?”

The Devil patted Herman’s leg with a familiar ease of the person who had used to defend his opinions. “Something like that. It is not called Religion for nothing. It doesn’t have to be logical, fair or easy.”

A smell of an old unwashed body and bad teeth filled Herman’s nostrils again. The reek made him gag. His stomach wanted to turn around when he thought how he had to return to the swimming pool scene tomorrow morning.

Not fair or easy. You could say that again.


	19. Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony learns the consequences of his harsh actions. The things go downhill from there.

_Hello dad._

Tony turned his head. He was in his workshop, trying to concentrate on his tinkering, but this time it didn’t put him at ease. Peter’s message was a relief, even if he told himself he was so pissed off to the boy he didn’t care.

_I know you don’t want to see me or speak to me_ _right now_ _, so here is for you something to read. The_ _attachments with this message_ _include my real medical_ _files_ _and all the test_ _s_ _I have made to myself during the last four years. The_ _re is also designs for_ _my suit and stuff like_ _that… and of course the formula for my_ _wonderful web flui_ _d_ _which Uncle Clint still believes Spidey somehow_ _excretes_ _from his naturally spiderly hole._

Tony remembered that icky theory. Sulking in his workshop had its appeal, but Pepper had already called him an idiot. You could say that again, Tony thought. His son kept such a huge secret from him all these years. But Peter knew him too well. Tony was as curious as they come, and revealing the scientific genius of his son made his heart ache with pride and joy. How come his little Pete had done all these ingenious things without anybody noticing?

Two hours of browsing gave him a whole picture of Peter’s achievements during the last five years. The boy was nothing like him, he was so meticulous! There were tons of things his inventor mind wanted to talk with Peter. His mouth watered as he thought all the exploring fun he would have with his son so that he almost forget the reason of his resentment, just like Peter had meant it.

Perhaps he had brooded enough in his cave. He was still angry and humiliated and not to mention down right horrified about his son’s dangerous occupation, but maybe Pepper was right and he should act as an adult over the matter. He was Peter’s dad, so it was his job to take an initiative and offer an olive branch. The decision made he asked his computer to locate Peter.

_Stark, Peter is on the roof in section B 5._

“Is he alone?” Tony doubted it. He was sure all the members of their extended family had rushed in the scene while Tony had been busy with his self-pity. The location told him it was probably Clint who liked highs with a good view for the archer to shoot his arrows. Those two were usually all jokes and prank fights but they were close nevertheless. It would be no wonder if Peter run to the Archer with complains about his unreasonable father.

_Error. Access to the tower not granted. Override admin, Stark, Peter. Access to the roof granted. Error. Access to the tower not granted. Override admin..._

What the ever loving… Why was the normal security procedure looping?

“Computer, activate Iron Man armor.”

_Armor activated._

“Fly above the building and show me a visual from the roof. Full Scan.”

Tony didn’t need to wait for long for his answer. The body cam of the armor showed him a tall uniformed figure with two katanas on his back. That was the moment all the things Tony had tried to keep out of his mind attacked him at the same time.

Spider-Man kissing Deadpool, they both without their masks on. It had gone viral instantly. How long had this thing been going on? He had warned Spidey about Wilson from the very beginning, but apparently they have laughed behind his back this whole time.

Tony first coherent thought was he had to speak with Steve, or he would do something unfortunate like target the merc with the tower’s defense system and blow him to smithereens. That wouldn’t accomplish anything except Pete’s ire. Wade Wilson was immortal.

The merc took a step forward and Tony tensed. His hands hovered above the key board and mouth was ready to give a command to the armor. Nothing sinister happened though. That unstoppable mad hat killing machine had wrapped his arms around Tony’s boy, who pushed the top of his head under his chin. A familiar comforting position, which Pete had used already as a little kid, when he was unhappy or wanted security.

After a while Peter pushed his boyfriend to the arms length. There was no audio, but Tony could imagine his breezy words. Peter was such a brave little sport, had always been. Head held high. He had a reasonable solution to every problem. _No worries, dad. I will do. I will manage._

What had Tony done? Being himself, and that had given Peter a feeling he had to handle things on his own. That Tony wasn’t the one Pete could trust to act like a proper adult.

Wilson visibly hesitated. _Are you sure_ , his stance said. The merc was more sensitive and smart than Tony had given him credit for.

Peter’s impatient gestures squeezed a sad smile out of Tony. Now than he knew what to look it was easy to deduce there was his son under the mask. Peter didn’t watch his body language so carefully when his secret was now in the open. A few more waved instructions and Wilson jumped on his back. Tony was sure he would have to shoot the merc to smithereens after all, having public sex right there under his eyes, but then Pete jumped into the air and off the roof. Tony had seen Spider-Man do similar tricks a hundred times, but knowing it was his tiny Peter flying between the buildings with the help of a slimy thin rope and 240 pound merc on his back? That was enough to make Tony faint, but he kept himself standing, followed the couple until they were out of camera range. He could have stalked them with the armor, but even he and his sometimes feeble social skills realized that wasn’t desirable.

Except it wasn’t his tiny Peter anymore, wasn’t it? It was a bad-ass human spider who in the gym could match Nat’s every dirty move and clobber Thor if not unconscious so good the Asgardian felt the bruises next day.

His tiny Peter, grabbing a car and swinging it like a baseball bat. Moving too fast for the bullets to hit him.

His tiny Peter. The amazing Spider-Man.

Which one was real? Or could they both be?

As always when he faced a complex, non-technical dilemma, he wanted to whine about it to Steve. Tony didn’t bother to check his location, this time the day Steve would be in the gym or his room anyway. His brains had muted the scene in the kitchen, saying to him Steve would understand he hadn’t meant any of the words said. Tony slapping Steve? Probably flies hit his face harder when he rode his sexy motorcycle. Therefore he was surprised and not at all suspicious to find both Steve’s favorite places empty.

Tony was about to go, but something made him turn back from the door. Steve’s room was spartan to begin with, but now also a part of his books and LPs were gone. Tony snooped the walk-in-closet and noticed something similar had happened there also. The nice suits, brand clothes and expensive shoes and accessories Tony had bought to him were still there but mundane things like his Salvation Army jeans, sweats, and shirts had disappeared. Perhaps Steve was finally realizing he didn’t need to watch his every penny and was getting rid off the bad stuff.

He hadn’t notice Sam coming to the room. His demeanor was less than friendly when the man eyeballed him like his namesake bird. “Let me guess. You came here to whine about Pete. You expect Steve to be all patient after the stunt you pulled in the kitchen.”

Tony kind of had. Expected.

“Tough shit, Tony. I am sure Steve himself believes he has a strategic and reasonable motivation behind his sudden urge to have a study leave, but let’s be honest here. You have yanked him around with your expert playboy skills, but today was the last straw.”

What! Did Sam know… Of course! Steve had told him.

“Come on, Tony! Are you going to accuse Steve about kissing and telling too? Everyone has known from the beginning you and Steve fool around. I am not saying this situation is completely your fault. We all know you are a player and Steve realizes that too. But what he knows in his head doesn’t always reach his heart. You were upset about your row with Pete, but… you better decide if that was a way even a panicky man should act toward his friend.”

But it wasn’t that bad, Tony wanted to say. He hadn’t meant… Steve knew that! Had Steve really said to Sam he was offended, or had Falcon just decided Steve should be?

Tony needed some objective view about this, so he returned to his sad man cave and watched the security tapes. He saw Steve turning into a salt statue after Tony’s palm slapped his cheek, heard his own harsh words where he stated Steve’s status in his and Peter’s life. Why he had said something so insipid! Of course they were family, they were the Avenger family and if Tony sometimes dreamed he had something more with Steve and Steve alone, even a fairy tale pixie dust chance he had kept alive in the back of his head was now gone.

Not at the same day, Tony wailed in his mind. Not like this. Two the most important people in his life, abandoning him. And it was all his own fault as usual.

To make the pain even sweeter he replayed the tapes half a dozen times. Steve always forgot the cameras. The poor sod thought he had some privacy to cry when he got out of the kitchen. Nat gave him time to wipe discreetly his cheeks before joining him in the corridor. Their conversation, Steve packing his things... Tony couldn’t listen no more. Couldn’t watch how Steve hurried through the lobby to the street, never to return to the magical tower, where heroes lived under the spell of an evil witch who looked like Tony.

He was a rotten friend. Even worse as a father. Anybody who wanted him as a life mate had to be brain amputated. Tony heard Howard laughing at him in the shadows of the work shop, and he knew he was only a few moments away about losing his wits. But he couldn’t do that now. He had to prove he could act adult. He would show them all and fix this.

Maybe tomorrow.

“Computer, I want to place an order. Suntory Hibiki. Distilled 1981.”

If Tony was going to throw away his years of sobriety, he was doing it with style.

_Unable to place an order. Suntory Hibiki is on the list of 4075 days without booze._

It was a response he had coded program to give if he tried to order something stronger than Diet Wild Cherry Pepsi. Ah, that caffeine… He was as annoyed as he was relieved, but not giving up, that surreptitious glance he gave around when he started to tap his override password would have tell anybody looking Tony was the most devious and clever when he was on a road to his destruction.

The main screen turned black. Then it showed a very retro system failure alert.

_Unable to perform. Error with subcode._

After the performance with the roof security protocol he should have seen that coming. Still he felt like surprised his hand deep in the cookie jar.

“Computer, when was the subcode made?”

_Subcode was updated today by admin Stark, Peter._

His armpits and neck were covered with moisture. Tony breathed as if he had moved to the gym and done fifteen minutes Steve’s horrible but efficient warm-ups.

Alright. No panic. “Computer, crash the performance report.”

_Command invalid. Error with subcode._

He bit his little finger to prevent screaming. There was nothing to do. Not only had Peter forbidden him to imbibe his poison in a silent inclusion of his workshop, but now his son already knew what he had tried to do: hide like a coward and let others sort out his mess.


	20. Steve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve ponders his future and past and has a humiliating revelation of the possible motivations of his actions.

“You hit Fury.”

They were in Sam’s place. Steve stared at his glass full of water, when Sam took another sip of his beer like wanting to rinse the words away.

“You don’t have to sound so shocked, Sam. I know you have wanted to do that yourself for a long time. We all do.”

His friend didn’t admit. Nor did he denied the fact. Steve sighed and continued, “I hit him. On his face. I was tied up into that mind torturing device when he let me know he thought I am a child molester. I couldn’t sock him then.”

Perhaps he was overreacting, but somehow Fury’s attitude had felt worse than if the same thing had happened during the war. Here he had been told tens of times he shouldn’t think himself as an abomination because of his sodomy... damn! His _homosexuality_. _Gayness_. What ever, if it included adult, consensual males. But all those liberal ideas were only pretty empty words after his superior officer treated him like shit under his combat boots, not even waiting to hear was he really guilty of any crime.

“Yeah, I am sure that is a regret Fury will take with him to the grave. I don’t want to defend his asshole behavior, but I understand his panic reaction. He doesn’t know you like I and the others do, he sees this perfect boy scout war hero, and we all know those don’t exist in the real world.”

Sam could say that again. Hero was one word Steve wouldn’t choose to describe himself.

“I did what I had to do. Like everybody else. I just happened to be more than an average man, so I was expected to do more.”

“And you expected that from yourself also. If I ever need a picture for the lexicon next to the word overachiever it will be your face on line.”

Steve took a sip from his glass. He should be used to hear Sam’s praise, but it always made his earlobes blush anyway. “I just thought it would be different.”

“After your came out of the closet you mean.”

His answer was more like a sigh than a word.

“You hoped public would have reacted better?”

Steve shook his head. “No, the PR-department warned me beforehand that even people generally tolerant towards sexual minorities may have issues if a national icon states to be one.”

Sam’s lips pursed up like the rest of his beverage had turned sour. He put the empty bottle in the basket under the kitchen sink and pulled the fridge door open, ready to get a new one. He changed his mind and pushed his hands into his armpits; his usual stance when Sam was confused of thinking too hard. That was what Steve did to his friends nowadays. He made everyone feel uncomfortable.

“You thought Tony would be different? Steve, please don’t say you came out because you thought you could then be openly with Tony.”

Steve grimaced. “It was stupid of me, wasn’t it? But I… Tony just laughed, said the first proper gay experience always creates an illusion you are in love with your sex partner. Our tryst shouldn’t have meant a thing, but I can’t help how I feel, Sam. At the same time I know I am unfair to Tony, but there is no way out of this situation, isn’t there? If I can’t act like a proper gay man...”

“Don’t say that”, Sam interrupted. “You are so proper gay man as they go.”

His friend’s ire made a tired smirk twist his lips. “All right, yes. Sorry, Sam. Let’s say my taste for a relationship is too vintage for this age. But Sam, please understand why I can’t… I just can’t stay here.”

“Steve…”

“I tried to be like Tony’s other paramours didn’t matter, but in reality it feels like my heart is sliced open every time I see him with some other gal or fella.”

Sam reached out and put his hand on Steve’s shoulder. Those brief, friendly contacts, was that Steve’s future? In his youth he hadn’t dared to hope even that much, but after tasting what the life could be at its best he had become greedy and more demanding.

Sam was his friend, a brother like Bucky. Tony had been so much more. Perhaps he would find another Tony, some years after the rejection of his first true love had stopped hurting. If it ever stopped.

Steve’s grumbling stomach halted his thoughts. That was another thing which was never satisfied. They made sandwiches and salad, and when Steve’s appetite was finally fulfilled Sam’s fridge was sadly empty.

“Sorry I am such a hog”, Steve said, munching the last apple. “One thing I will sorely miss from the tower is those never emptying food cabins.”

Steve sat straighter in his chair when he realized how his words sounded. “I don’t mean I would not miss you guys and as strange as I sounds, maybe I will miss our battles too. In the war it was so unequal.”

“You being a super soldier?”

Steve shook his head. “No that… but in the war most man died never knowing from where the threat was coming. Airplanes shooting or dropping bombs, tanks using their guns, so far from the target. When somebody spits at your face her natural born poison acid you at least see who is doing what.”

“If your eyes are not melting”, Sam mumbled. “What you mean… Perhaps you will not miss the battle and people getting hurt, but the excitement.”

“Yeah, probably”, Steve admitted. “I know it is not good of me.”

Sam didn’t roll his eyes, but sometimes he looked like he wanted to. “Yes it is, Steve. Stop treating yourself like everything you do is odd or bad. Some people are like that, they get their fix from the threat of potentially dangerous situations. They are playfully called adrenaline junkies. I don’t think the super soldier serum has lessened that personality trait of yours. Didn’t you tell me you used to fight a lot before you were chosen to the program? Even guys bigger than you?”

There was truth in Sam’s words. Steve had thought he had been in right that time, defending justice and common decency, or persons weaker than himself. But perhaps it had been a lie too, like his pretense to be interested in that cute Jewish girl whose family had lived the next door to his mother’s rental room. What if he had been fighting all these years only to get his thrills? His desperate desire to serve and protect his country was even easier to understand. Who would have wanted to stay home when every able bodied man was sent overseas? Who would want to be left behind like a weak, useless faggot?

“Steve? What did I say?”

“What?” Steve hesitated. “It was nothing. You are right.”

Sam wasn’t buying that one. “This is not your nothing face, Steve. This is your Captain face, and you use it out of battlefield only when you don’t want others to know what you are thinking.”

What was he thinking? After the mind scourge he had been overly emotional and had serious difficulties to keep his thoughts together. Steve stood up and left the kitchen. He didn’t pretend to do it for any other reason but to avoid Sam’s scrutiny.

Sam’s apartment had two bedrooms. A living room was a cozy place with its earthly colors. They had lounged in the couch and watched TV, talked and joked, and sometimes others had been with them. How come all of that felt so distant now? Steve so far away from the people he had called his friends. But where they? His friends, Steve meant. What if they had realized how useless and weak he really was? Fake flag, as some users had called him in Twitter.

He was going towards the window, but he never reached his destination. His superior legs went wobbly and before he realized what had happened Steve was on his knees on the rug. Sam was with him immediately, hugging him when Steve bent over his tights and covered his face with his fists. His fingers were soon wet from the moisture leaking from his eyes, and he couldn’t prevent the tremors of his body.

He had no idea how long the episode lasted. Perhaps a few minutes, but it could have been as well an hour or two. “I am so sorry Sam. I don’t know what came over me. I have been all over the place after that mind scourge. I doubt every thought and decision I have ever made, and then I...”

Steve squeezed his eyes shut again and took a few deep breaths, but his sissy spell was over.

“What came over… Jesus, Steve.” Sam sounded agitated. That seemed to be all what Steve was good anymore, to bother the people he called his nearest and dearest. “You were tortured by the man you thought you could trust. You can hardly sleep from your old and new nightmares, and then the guy who knows you carry a torch for him gives you a subprime cold shoulder. As you I would be in a fetal position under the blanket and eating myself silly with ice-cream.”

The mental image of Sam doing something so childish made his lips tremble. “Would that help?”

“No, but the suffering is sweeter.”

Steve couldn’t help a dry chuckle escaping his lips. “I doubt the ice-cream part. Probably you would be square dancing with Satan.”

“Did you just claim I would be jerking off?”

Steve raised his eyebrow.

“Well, alright. You got me there.”

Sam looked so sheepish Steve burst out laughing. It was funny how his friends still tried to spare his grandpa sensibilities. He had been a soldier. Cussing and lewd jokes had been his everyday life for years. They stood up from the floor and Steve squeezed briefly Sam’s shoulder before sitting himself in the couch.

“You are a good friend Sam.” Steve let out a content sigh, his smile slowly turning into grimace. “Unfortunately I am not alright. As you saw… I am hardly fit to lead myself right now, and I am so fed up with those therapists, I thought I will try the old fashioned way. But hitting Fury didn’t help me on that account, he didn’t boot me out of the Avengers as I planned. At least I got what he called an administrative leave.”

“So you are really going. Where? And for how long?”

Steve shrugged his shoulders. “I have looked up a few things. The SHIELD has full scholarships for studies, and I am still befitting to apply. Before the war I dreamed to study art professionally like. But I don’t know…”

“What?” Sam asked when Steve didn’t continue on his own. Steve had let his body slide down and leaned back until his head touched the top of the cushion. He had closed his eyes again, not wanting to see Sam’s expression.

“It is nothing the society would deem useful. And it is not very manly.”

Now it was said aloud. The things which had hounded a physically weak and asthmatic youngster had followed him to this new and improved age. It didn’t help how his therapist berated Steve about his internalized homophobia when things around him had changed so much and still stayed basically the same.

Sam’s fist hitting the cushion made an impressive sound. His following hand gesture wasn’t PG.

“Fuck them! No, I mean: FUCK THEM! Two words for any dipshit who dares to give you lip: Omaha Beach.”

“Right”, Steve snorted. “Way to get a guy to feel his age.”


	21. Peter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Tony sulks in his man cave, Peter has to attend the company meeting as his dad’s still-in.

“How dare he!”

Peter grabbed a firmer hold from the wall and pushed back against Wade. His fingers penetrated the surface like a kid would slide his hand through the sand during his beach plays. There was a faint crunching sound when the plasterboard cracked. Peter felt the concrete beneath his fingertips begin to fracture.

“That… ugh! Stupid, egotistic old idiot! Like he was the only one who had to make adjustments to his life because of other people… I can’t believe him! Like I am...”

He halted his rant. Wade had been giving him a good ride, pushing inside in an exact right angle. But not even his rod moving in and out of him in that hypnotic and delicious way couldn’t wipe away Peter’s annoyance. Why did his dad have to be always so difficult?

“Wade? Why did you stop, darling?”

Wade had slid himself carefully out of Peter and was now sitting on his heels on the floor. They were both fully naked. Wade without his mask and caring nothing about the fact. Peter was so proud of his brave boyfriend! Wade was in a right position for some sweet blowjob action, but Peter realized now was not the moment to ask for service. Wade had something to say, so he needed his mouth empty.

“Baby Boy”, the merc sighed. “I would appreciate if you didn’t talk about Tony while we are doing this.”

“Oh sorry, Muffin. It is just… I am so mad! When I am this agitated, I can’t help my blabbing. I will gag myself if you want.”

Usually this kind of suggestion met enthusiastic nodding, but now Wade just looked at him with his sad, yellowish eyes. Was it his liver fighting the cancer, or something Peter could help with right kind of eye drops? His moisturizer had worked splendidly. Wade’s skin looked better already.

“You should be there. With him.”

Peter let out a sharp giggle before he realized Wade really meant what he was saying.

“What is this? You don’t even like Tony.”

“I don’t like or dislike him. He is your dad. You said...”

This was going to be annoying: Wade being the sensible one. “I am not his baby-sitter”, Peter denied, but Wade was already shaking his head.

“You kind of are, and is that why you are with me? You can baby-sit me too?”

“Perhaps”, Peter had to admit. “I like to take care of people I love.”

Wade boggled. Was that the forbidden L-word? Too soon like his talks about the marriage? But no, Wade had been just surprised. His looks begged him to say that again. Peter delivered.

“I love you, Wade.”

His big hands were on Peter’s abdomen. Wade’s chapped lips tickled his skin, the kisses were light as butterflies wings as they rained over Peter, covered his body from the chest to his groin. As the merc pushed against him again, Peter shot his webs onto the ceiling, lifting them both upward. He was not sure if the boards there could handle a cat-cradle, but if he had to renovate something, why not the whole apartment at the same time.

After their little session Peter was in a better mood. He was actually down right chirpy when he landed on the roof of the Stark Tower. The windows didn’t open for security reasons, so he had to use the roof entrance and the elevator like everybody else. It felt still weird to walk openly in his Spider-Man suit to the common area. He went to the fridge and started filling a plate like an always-hungry-weird-metabolism-thing he was. He should order some groceries to his apartment too, not that Wade needed any, his fiance could live happily ever after with pizza and chimichangas and beer, never needing to see a glimpse of fruit or green salad.

He was halfway through his meal when he heard those famous heels. Pepper Potts was approaching and her gait didn’t sound pleased.

“Peter! I thought you weren’t here. Could you talk to your dad! He knew we have a meeting and he swore to me...”

Tony did that, didn’t he. But this was a more serious pass. This was about the industrial espionage case Pepper and Peter had been investigating. Pepper had delivered their conclusions to Tony just before Peter had come out of the closet as a superson. Tony had then promised to give the news to his team of executives himself. When that option wasn’t available, because Tony was in a total lock down in his work shop like a coward he was, Peter had to walk the walk. After the last rushed bites and gulps, he went to his room, took a shower, and changed into his Tom Ford suit. He had been hesitating if he should tell Pepper all the facts, but keeping secrets from their extended family hadn’t gone so well thus far.

“We didn’t have much time to talk before I left with Wade”, Peter confessed. “I know you are superbusy working your fingers to the bone for our company and we have a habit to add to your work load.”

Pepper halted them in front of the elevator. “Pete, now you start to scare me. What is it? I knew Tony was upset...”

What a massive understatement. Peter didn’t feel like looking at her eyes, so he investigated if his fancy Italian made designer shoes were as shiny as they should be.

“Tony tried to order alcohol. My subprogram stonewalled his request and informed me about the situation. So maybe it isn’t only a bad thing he had decided to hole up in his workshop. He knows his own weaknesses. We just have to make sure he eats and doesn’t die of dehydration.”

Peter pushed again the call button. There had been times the elevator seemed to move at a snail’s pace, but those situations usually involved homicidal supervillains, not his own family members.

“You can blame me”, Peter said. “If I hadn’t...”

Pepper interrupted him by putting her hand calmly on his arm.

“I don’t feel like blaming anybody”, Pepper was saying as they entered the elevator. “After he got you, Tony has grown up much as a person. This is a new situation for all of us. We all know Tony and realize why you acted like you did. It was reckless, yes. It was dangerous, yes for that too, but you are Stark, and those are also two of your best family traits, which make you guys who you are. Tony will have some bumpy miles to go, that’s all, but he loves you. It will always end with that notion.”

The doors pinged open. Miguel Hernandez, Pepper’s personal assistant, was waiting for them in the lobby. He raised his eyebrow when he saw Peter instead of Tony.

“Pepper informed you about the situation? You got both the security and the police in your speed dial?”

“Yes, Pete… Sorry, Mr. Stark.”

Peter whooshed with his hand. “Not necessary, Mig. Are we still good by the way? Or is our captain going to dump me from the rooster?”

Miguel and four of his friends were part time gamers, playing half-professionally Dota 2. Peter joined them occasionally when one of them was sick or had some other obligations than pondering the best strategies to beat his foe. Yeah, ironic, wasn’t it, how his recreational activities reminded each others.

“Not this captain. With your brains and your alter ego’s enchanted speed? Why don’t we all quit our day jobs and start professional gaming careers with you as our secret weapon?”

“I wish.” Peter smiled ruefully. Going to the tournament with him in the team would be unfair to the other players. Miguel opened the door and they entered the meeting room. They were the last ones to arrive and fashionable late. Peter let his gaze and other senses slide over the place, making observations about his surroundings like Aunt Nat had taught him.

Thirteen men and woman, the directors of the varied business areas of Stark International. As an executive team, they answered for the strategic planning of their company and supervised how those plans were carried out, answered as Tony’s brain trust for the financial reporting, the investments and acquisitions.

Some of them Peter knew personally. The director of the R&D department had been his mentor when he was writing his second doctoral dissertation. She was used to a clumsy and stuttering youngster with the ugly nerd glasses. This straight-backed, handsome young man with a deceptively easy gait any ballerina would die to posses, was a stranger to her. He had indeed earned all those curious and appraising gazes.

“Good afternoon people. I am sorry my father can’t join us today. He is bingeinventing something fabulous for us and asked me to act as his fill-in.”

The _us_ could be the company or the Avengers. Nobody asked.

“Mr. Stark…”

“Please, call me Doctor Stark. Mr. Stark is my father.”

Peter flashed a shark smile. Now was a good time to remind all of them he was not some trust fund kid playing in his daddy’s sandbox, but a smart and powerful man with a list of achievements of his own.

“Doctor Stark”, the man corrected. That was John Henderson. From finances of all things. “I am sorry, my colleagues and I have been discussing about the situation and we would like to address some issues.”

“Are these issues by any means spider-shaped?”

Tension had hovered in the room like a bad smell, but now it broke up and turned into muted smiles or brief nervous giggles around the table. “Yes”, Henderson continued, he too grinning at their lightly ridiculous situation, “sorry about that. We should have been used to the idea that the highest management of this company uses their spare time pummeling the bad guys. There hasn’t been any official announcements. Are you or Mr. Stark planning to address the public?”

“Naturally. I am sorry I can’t discuss about the details, because I still haven’t decided what kind of narrative we will choose with the help of our talented people in the PR-department. As you have already realized there are a few complications.”

“Like your relationship with Mr. Wilson?”

“Among other things, yes.”

The assistant CEO of the SI doing vigilante job in a head-socked onesie and having an intimate relationship with an ill-reputable mercenary? At the stock market their situations didn’t spell like stability.

“You have better act sooner than later, Pete. The market is already reacting.”

Peter turned to meet the worried gaze of Spencer Williamson. Like his father, the man was in his late forties, but he had no robot armor or Captain “the burpee” America to keep him fit. He looked his age and then some. That was not a reason which made Peter’s cheek twist with the distaste, but the thought what Uncle Spencer had done to the man who gave him his friendship and trust. He was one of Peter’s godfathers, for crying out loud!

“I am well aware, Uncle Spence. That is why the timing of my outing was the most unfortunate. I am sorry to say SI will have one other obstacle to climb before we will have the faith of the market and consumers again.”

“Why? What is happening?”

That was one of the new directors of marketing. Camerino something… Marzia? Marisa?

“You see, five weeks ago, I was approached by one of the junior assistants of the HR-department. He had seen a glimpse of the e-mail he obviously shouldn’t have. As we investigated the mail had vanished from the server but he had been able to get a screenshot. I notified my father and Ms. Potts about the situation, and we decided I will be the responsible of the internal investigation.”

All the ears were on him now as Peter continued, “The investigation of my team revealed long lasting misconducts which will not only put us in disadvantage in the latest developments of the energy research, but they also dig the very foundation of trust and independence which my father had always valued in the relationships with the people he collaborates. Leaking information to one of our competitor, the Hammer Industries, is a blatant violation of that trust. Don’t you agree, Uncle Spence?”

“Well, naturally...”

Peter had thought to gave them a longer speech but looking at the smarmy face of the guilty man made him so angry he didn’t want to drag the situation further.

“A gambling problem and a too expensive girlfriend? I mean, come on! Now is perhaps a good time to say I never liked your dad jokes. They are as banal as your vices.”

People sitting next to Peter’s godfather moved trying to put some distance between themselves and the target of their boss’s ire.

“Wait a minute, boy. You are accusing me… Where is the evidence?”

Where is the evidence, he asks. No surprise or claiming he was innocent. That sweating, blushing pig of a man! Too many rich lunches, paid by their company card. Too many glasses of wine and fine whiskeys and telling himself he was not an alcoholic. No wonder Tony and he hadn’t been as close as before after Peter’s dad sobered up.

Peter pulled his laptop from its case, was going to show them the evidence Uncle Spencer was asking after, when his spider-sense gave him so sharp a jolt his head ringed. On the table there were the usual water bottles and fruit stances. The fruits had fallen all over the place when Uncle Spencer had grabbed a spindle which some artistically orientated intern had chosen to use as a holder for clementines, of all things. He had slumped over the poor guy sitting next to him and pushed his head against the table, holding the spike on his neck.

“Nobody moves”, he screamed.

“Uncle Spence.”

That got his attention. “I mean you too, Pete. Where is your witty banter now, boy? Not so easy, huh? Not so easy when you are not wearing your father’s stupid inventions. Do you feel it? Do you feel how powerless you really are?”

No, Peter didn’t feel it. They had been planning letting Uncle Spencer go easily, shamed but no charges claimed and with a full retirement package. That had been his father’s kindness towards his former friend, but Uncle Spencer’s behavior had ensured the plan was ready to be dumped into the trash can.

“Uncle Spence, let Kaidan go. You are in enough trouble already. You don’t want to add a felony assault on your list.”

He had already added it, but maybe Uncle Spencer didn’t realize how deep he was if Peter acted fast. While he spoke he shot the first web to the hand holding the sharp object. The second one hit Uncle Spencer on his chest and then the hollering man was flying over the table.

“You said something about my suit. Care to take a closer look of the design?”

Peter was standing on the table now. He didn’t have his spidersuit but civilian clothes plus his trusted web shooters. He was holding Spencer effortlessly from his lapels, the feet of the man tangling in the air. What a show-off!

“The Chinese I would have understood, but Justin “the copycat” Hammer! Really, Uncle Spence? I wonder if that guy has ever produced anything which isn’t stolen from us or Oscorp.”

“At least they act like professionals”, Williamson hissed. “Not playing cops and crooks in their stupid costumes.”

Peter snorted. The security Mig had called arrived and halted at the door to watch the show. He put his godfather down and sit on the table next to Kaidan, not giving a single glance to the man who’s dishonest actions had put him beneath their attention or concern.

“Are you alright? Do you need medical attention?”

“I am…” Kaidan touched his neck. “A little shaken, I guess. Is there blood?”

Peter shook his head.

“Then I am OK. You are not playing by the way.”

“Excuse me?”

“The Avengers and the Spider-Man. You are not some cosplayers like Mr. Williamson suggested. You just saved me and you are sitting there like you were at the coffee break.”

“Yes, I am sorry. This is a unique situation for you.”

“I didn’t mean you have be sorry, Doctor Stark. Don’t be sorry.”

“Alright”, Peter nodded. “I changed my mind. Please, everybody. Don’t call me Doctor Stark. It makes me sound like a mad scientist supervillain. I am Peter.”

The man sitting next to him extended his hand. “Kaidan Handal. My boss usually attends these meetings. He failed to mention they are this exciting.”

“Yes, Kaidan”, Peter drawled. “The boy wonder. The apple in my father’s eye. The screw and nut son he never had. He has told me lots about you. Please, don’t look like you expect me to broke your fingers, I am just joking around. Not about my dad talking about you, your work with those conducts made an impression. My blabbing doesn’t function so well without the mask and action, or what do you think?”

“Definitely”, Kaidan nodded. “I mean, not working… I mean you got me worried for a second there, sir… Peter.”

Peter ended the handshake with a friendly pat on the man’s arm. “I am not my father”, he stated, now addressing the room which was listening to him with interest. “As you well know, Tony Stark is an intuitive genius and engineer who can built a space ship with a box of rusty nails and duct tape. His vision and inventions have shaped this company to what it is today. I am not here to overrule my father or trying to lead you astray from the path he has paved. My main mission in the job will be to assist Ms. Potts to shoulder the heavy load of mundane which will leave my father more time to embrace the role of a visionary and a hero the world and you guys deserve. I have a lot to learn and with two differently functioning leadership sets my father and Ms. Potts represent I think I will have the best teachers available.”

There were spontaneous applauds after his impromptu speech. Pepper muted her smile and pushed lightly his back. _Well done, Pete._


	22. Matt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Matt and Herman are in a middle of a relationship negotiation when Herman gets unexpected good bad news.

“Matt, what do you think you are doing?”

They were in their way back to the office. Matt still tasted the overpriced latte on his tongue. Felt the touch of Herman’s fingers as he had shaken his hand.

“Schultz is our client. Like Tony-Stark-is-paying-money-bag client. You can’t flirt with a client.”

So that’s why Foggy had stomped his feet while ascending the stairs. “It is the other way around”, Matt tried, knowing his struggle was in vain. “He flirts with me.”

“You allow it. Why do you allow…”

The door of their office closed with a bang when Foggy got his great realization. “Oh my God Matt! Are you two...”

Were they, Matt wondered. There were people who didn’t consider even a blowjob as having sex with somebody. There had been no other kind of penetration, so maybe Matt could say they were not having sex. Just lots of sex related things.

Foggy took his hesitation as an affirmative. His best friend roamed around the room like an angry bear and finally pushed TV open, so he could shout at Matt without their neighbors hearing.

It was a news flash. The same piece they had been rolling a few days now. The press conference at the Stark International where Peter Stark came officially out as the Spider-Man. From the sounds on the screen it was easy to deduce they had cut video clips from Spidey’s old fights to their mix-up tape of the scoop of the week.

“Did you know he was the Spider-Man?”

Matt leaped to this change of subject, not realizing he would end hip deep into the bog. “Yes.”

“Oh. I see. He knows who you are then?”

His friend’s superbro envy was raising its ugly head again. “No he doesn’t, Foggy. It was a lucky co-incidence. I smelled him when he was in his civvies.”

“You smelled… of course you did. But how about him?”

Play it cool, Matt said to himself. Just play it cool. “Who?” he wondered, raising his best questioning eyebrow. But Foggy wasn’t paying attention to his innocent act.

“Matt stop it!” Foggy was up and striding across the floor again. “I know that face! That is your Elektra face! You idiot went and told him!”

“Keep it down, Foggy.” Matt made a hushing motion. The TV might be open, but so was the window, and there were balconies in which people like to sit and smoke or drink an occasional beer. “He found out himself. My mask doesn’t cover enough. And what do you mean my Elektra face?”

“Don’t you try.” Foggy was shaking his finger in his general direction. “Matt, you can’t do this again.”

But what about her?

“I should have seen this coming miles away.” Foggy’s waving hands moved into his hair, which he was pulling in desperation. If his poor friend went bald before his time, it would be Matt’s fault. “All this dark drama going on and in the middle of it a good looking shady character, yes, he is goddamn fit, don’t you try to deny it! I am sure you groped a feel right away. And yes, it is first all witty banter and exciting and maybe even cuddly. Until the guy realizes that is not a foreplay but all he is going to get.”

Matt’s teeth ground together. His pulse rose and he was halfway up from his chair, ready to punch and kick. He realized in seconds the violence was not an available option, which left him shaking with anger. How dare him! How dare his best friend say such a thing to his face. “Foggy, I have told you”, he growled. “My intimate life is not your business.”

But Foggy was too deep in his own worry to mind his words. “No, no, no! You are all my business when you come crying to me about this new fiasco. Or not. You don’t cry or talk or do anything at least lightly sensible. You just beat half a dozen pushers into a coma because of your emotional stress. Do you really enjoy that much when your romantic partners laugh at your face?”

Matt was going to lose it. He hit his fist on the table to not hit Foggy. “I said not your damn business!”

The banging sound jolted Foggy out of his self-righteous snit. “Don’t break the table! I was out of line. I am sorry, Matt. But please, can you halt and think about this objectively like, and you will see where this is heading. And no blind jokes about my chosen phrase.”

Foggy meant what he had said this time. He wasn’t going to sit idle and take shit from Matt. He had the most devious plan.

 _An_ _honest_ _talk_ _._ The mightiest weapon in any given arsenal, and Foggy wielded it like a pro he was, as Matt noticed when he met Herman the day after his awkward conversation with his best friend.

Matt didn’t make any excuses anymore. Not to himself nor to Herman. He wasn’t around by chance, but did his patrol and then, like pulled by the magnet he was behind Herman’s window, tapped the glass with his fingertips, and as usual, the window was opened.

“Devil.”

“Herman.”

Herman stepped away to leave him room to climb inside the apartment. Not too much room though. Matt slid across the floor like a nimble parkour god he was and grabbed Herman’s hips, pushing his back against the kitchen wall. Herman let his hand wander over his arms and shoulders, feeling the stubble on his cheeks with his thumps. A shiver went across Matt’s spine. The kiss felt like the most natural thing to do, Herman’s lips so soft and tasting spices of the hamburger he had eaten previously. Matt’s tongue probed, tried to dive deeper like it had done before, but there was a wall of slippery teeth preventing his entrance. The smell of fresh paint wasn’t as strong as in the beginning of his visits, but it still covered lots of other smells. It took him a few minutes to notice Herman’s scent had a thin streak of extra nerve.

Matt pushed Herman at arm’s length to get a better scent from the air around him. A weak but a familiar reek of cologne and baby power which his partner used to prevent his sweating to show lingered in the room like a sniff of bad conscious.

“I don’t want to assume, but I bet Foggy didn’t come here to talk just about the case.”

“How did you...” Herman started. Then he sighed and pushed Matt a little. Matt yielded even if his initial reaction told him to grab Herman harder, not letting him slip from his fingers, disappear like people in his life used to.

“It was the strangest shovel talk ever.” Herman had sit down on the chair besides the table. “He said…”

Herman groaned. “I really hate when people insinuate I am some kind of user. That is a bit thick, considering you’re one bad-ass motherfucker who could beat me up his both arms tied behind your back. Nor have I any other physical or mental advantage over you that I know of.”

A hot flash of anger run over Matt’s skin. There was a table to hit, but he restrained himself. Herman’s situation was complicated enough, he didn’t need unstable vigilantes to break his furniture.

“Foggy is quite a mother hen. Sorry about that.”

“He is right though, isn’t he? You are asexual. If that is the truth, it makes me wonder what the hell we have been doing.”

It explained those teeth blocking his entrance to the warm, delicious mouth. Damn you, Foggy!

“That is another neat little box he is pushing me inside”, he growled. “I wouldn’t call myself that.”

“So what is your own definition?”

Matt’s nose wrinkled in distaste. “I have none. I just know what I like or dislike.”

This was uncomfortable. He felt exposed even if he still got his mask on. No wonder he tried to stall. “You obviously like my uniform.”

“You noticed that, did you?” Now there was some mirth in Herman’s voice. “You don’t feel uncomfortable preening for me in your work clothes. Is the problem ass-shaped? I know there are many gay guys who don’t like anal. Myself included.”

“You don’t?”

The warmth increased. Herman cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

In for a penny… “For me it is a little more complicated than that.”

Herman raised his hand on Matt’s cheek. His fingers were moist, telling Matt he was as nervous as Matt felt. “How come? Please don’t say it is something permanent like I have to take an amputation or get three boobs.”

What kind of web pages Herman read? “No body alterations. I just don’t like to be touched under my waist. At all.”

Herman needed a few moments to digest that. “Alright, but you seem awfully keen to touch me in anywhere.”

“It doesn’t arouse me sexually, but touching, smelling, and tasting feels nice in other ways, and I like to make my partners enjoy themselves too.”

“If that is one thing you get from it… good for you. Anything else?”

Did Herman mean weird stuff or overall? Matt decided for the latter. “I like kissing. A lot. And hugging. And sleeping together. Your weight on me.”

Herman nodded. “Sounds nice.”

Matt’s forehead wrinkled under his mask, but Herman couldn’t see that. “Nice he says”, Matt mumbled. “I really don’t mind giving you a blowjob. Or using toys on you. But don’t expect me to react to the act. I… my mind and body doesn’t consider it any different than giving you a massage.”

Herman’s hand returned onto his lap, and Matt missed it immediately. Its weight seemed to belong onto his skin. “So you are not pissed if your massage gets me hard?” Herman asked, his voice full of hesitation, as he obviously suspected Matt’s answer wouldn’t be in his liking. “What if your hands and sexy bod makes me rub myself against your kevlar covered thigh like a mutt in heat? You will not detest me for that?”

“I wouldn’t have given you all those hand jobs if I considered your sexual pleasure repulsive.”

“Alright”, Herman said after a moment’s consideration. “I believe you. So… You don’t mind sexual acts per se. You just don’t want to be in the receiving end of them. That leaves me wondering what the real problem is.”

Now was Matt’s turn to hesitate. Was Herman kidding with him? “That was it.”

“I still don’t comprehend.”

His heart didn’t lie. Herman was telling the truth. “My previous partners have all hated the fact I was not getting aroused by them or the things we were doing together.”

“Oh… now I see. They were not able to enjoy themselves if you were not enjoying yourself the way they wanted?”

Herman’s tone told Matt his words had been sarcasm. Otherwise it was an excellent summary and made Matt’s ex-partners sound like asshats. Matt liked the idea.

“You are enjoying yourself your way?” Herman wanted to make sure. “When we were doing it? Not just doing things because of me?”

Perhaps now was Matt’s turn for honesty. “Well, that blowjob yesterday wasn’t so nice. I was too much a show off. I got pummeled into my jaw a few hours previously and it kind of felt uncomfortable.”

His confession earned him a light slap on his forearm. “For fuck’s… Matt!”

“What?”

“Don’t do blowjobs if you don’t like to do them. Or don’t do them so long you get bored or hurt. Please, don’t do anything which fits into those two categories.”

Herman’s touch resonated in his muscles, making him dingle all over. “So simple.”

“Yeah.”

There was this new, strange shyness between them. Matt declined the coffee, and when Herman asked if he would like to come to bed and engage into some snogging, Matt refused that also, saying he had patrolling to do.

A sudden spike in Herman’s heart rate told him he had read a lie as it was. But Matt couldn’t now concentrate on intimacy, he was so frustrated! Like waiting the other shoe to drop. They had talked long about what Herman had done in prison, his therapies and live management courses and of course his college studies. Herman wanted to be an engineer, and he was smart and hard working enough to make his dream come true. His social circles, however. The rules of his parole release stated he was not allowed to meet with his former peers or wear his supervillain costume or gear. Vigilantes with a sadistic streak were a step up on his social ladder, was that what Herman had been saying? Matt was a known walking human disaster, not something your therapist would recommend for a healthy relationship. And that uniform thing Herman had, so strange when you really thought about it. Did it mean anyone in leather and kevlar would do, but Matt in his civvies will be a turn off? Was he so easily changeable?

It was always like this. Matt fell too fast and too hard and then self doubt attacked him, the disappointment when the reality of his situation crashed on his head would be as heart breaking as usual. Was he falling for Herman already? That didn’t seem possible. They were just having little fun together… Who was he kidding? Damn Foggy, being always right!

The next day didn’t clear things any further. Except Foggy had changed his narrative again. Of course he had. Anything to make Matt feel even more like a freak and miserable.

They were eating their late lunch in the bistro near their office. A chicken salad made Matt only remember the delicious smell of the chicken dish Herman had been preparing while Matt had sat bounded into his kitchen chair like a Thanksgiving turkey. A bit controversial first date one would think.

Matt breathed deep in. It was like he had smelled a faint scent of Herman’s unique blend of pure skin, favorite soap, and light sweat he had gotten after walking briskly for a while.

“No, I am not afraid of you being used, but that you are using him.” Foggy was on a roll. “There is no nice way to say this: technically, he was raped, brutally and repeatedly. I find it peculiar he is willing to think sex at all.”

Oh Foggy! Why do you always have to rush to decide on behalf of others?

“Maybe he doesn’t want to feel like a victim all the time”, Matt suggested. He had listened Foggy only with a half an ear, concentrating on the familiar heart beat and smell which was fast approaching their table. Matt inhaled more, letting Herman’s being fill all his senses. He couldn’t help a smirk to twist the corner of his mouth when the steps halted behind Foggy’s chair. Herman was as interested to hear what Matt would answer as Foggy.

“Alright, perhaps he doesn’t want to put his dick into your ass right now”, Foggy said. “But what about later? When he is suitable recovered from...”

“Fuck you, Foggy”, Matt interrupted. “Our moves in the sack are not your business anyway. Maybe this time he just wants to decide himself what he does and when and with who he does it.”

Foggy snorted aloud. “Yeah, yeah. But after such an experiment how does he know what he feels or wants?”

Matt couldn’t help an involuntary wince. “Foggy...”

Foggy’s waving hands halted. “Please, Matt”, he groaned. “Don’t tell me our client is standing behind me.”

“Hello, Mr. Nelson”, Herman said, not sounding offended at all. Matt didn’t know was that Herman’s normal modus operanti or a real thing. “Karen told me you two would be here. A lunch hour and still deep in my case. I am impressed.”

Perhaps a tad of sarcasm was allowed. Herman bent to kiss Matt. Matt wasn’t a fan of PDA, but this time it felt appropriate. Matt heard Foggy’s offended snort, but his worry melted into those firm and delicious lips.

Matt moved to give Herman room to sit down, and Herman obligated, pushing his thigh against Matt’s. Matt couldn’t help a smile raising on his lips, his other worries briefly forgotten.

“Is this going to be a problem? Legally like?”

“Nothing much, Mr. Schultz”, Foggy sniffed. “Only for an overall view of the strengths and weaknesses in the case. That's hard to do if you are emotionally and personally involved.”

“It is a good thing I have you then, Mr. Nelson.”

“Yeah, really good”, Foggy mumbled from between his gritted teeth. “Hopeless! Like talking to the trees, both of you! Yes, you are now all fine and dandy, but what if you have a fall out when we are still working with your case? Have you given a thought for that?”

“So you thing your best friend is that petty? He would let a client down just to get even what ever way he thinks I am wronged him?”

That made Foggy shut up. “Damn you”, he sighed and stood up. “I am going back to work. Please, Matt. Don’t disappear at me again. We have still those interviews and I have to be in court tomorrow.”

“So you have been ditching your partner”, Herman said after Foggy had gone. “That is not very heroic of you, Mr. Murdoch.”

“Never claimed to be one”, Matt mumbled. “What’s up?”

They usually met only at nights and when Matt was in his uniform. Herman must have gotten some urgent business to discuss with him. Perhaps something had happened?

“Nothing particular. You don’t answer your phone so I came to ask you if you wanted to have lunch. I was obviously late.”

“Oh.”

“I got a vibe last night you needed some space. I am awfully bad at that, by the way. Perhaps later, but right now… I have been four years locked away, and kind of touch starved. Got same kind of vibe of you, but perhaps I was just imagining. Sorry about that. There were exercises, you know. How to distinguish your own feelings from other people’s, but I don’t always get it right. I just thought to ask you for lunch and apologize.”

A sudden burst of nervous sweat told Matt what the confession cost to Herman. “Well, I will leave you to continue your work. Call sometimes, if you are not busy or something. I will be starting my studies anyway and Stark offered me an intern job with one of his subcontractors, so we have both our hands full, I think.”

Matt could have said his phone had been muted. He should have said, but that was a lie. He had heard the call coming from Herman and been too chicken shit to answer.

Alright. In for a penny...

“Wait!” Matt claimed, grabbing Herman’s arm. “How about a dinner? I mean, you can come to my place.”

Oh damn! Why did he say such a thing? He felt how Herman’s arm taunted. “...or we can eat out”, he ended lamely. “Business dining is eligible for tax deductions.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah.”

Herman sat down again. The thigh was pushed against Matt’s, and Matt let his fingers linger on Herman’s arms.

“Jesus, we are like two monkeys”, Herman huffed. “Soon we are starting to search fleas from each others furs.”

“I have asked you not to blaspheme.”

“Sorry. You freaked out last night.”

“I freaked out”, Matt admitted, then added with hushed tones, “I am more than my suit.”

“You think I don’t know that”, Herman said. “Never been with anyone with a fetish before?”

“Oh, a lot.” Matt tapped his shades. “I noticed very early on my blindness adds to the mystery. One more I don’t mind, but just… You know...”

There were times his lawyer eloquent abandoned him. Fortunately Herman’s phone made an impatient quaking sound. “It is my sister”, he explained. “Sorry, I have to take this… Hey, Heathy, what...”

Matt had no time to give Herman some privacy. And it would have been useless anyway when his hearing was how it was. Herman knew that. He knew Matt could follow the conversation without his speaker on.

“Ask her to come to my place with you”, Matt asked. “We will eat and make plans.”

Herman’s froze. Perhaps Matt’s _we_ was too intrusive in this context. Heather had told his brother she was pregnant.

It took almost twenty minutes to get Heather calm down enough to listen their suggestion. After Herman didn’t guarantee her any cash, she promised she would come to talk with them. She had heard Matt’s voice, and thought maybe brother’s new boyfriend would be easier to persuade.

“She is not getting an abortion”, Herman said when the call ended. “If you suggest that I don’t care if you beat me up afterwards, I will clock you right now and here.”

“I will not beat up people who doesn’t deserve it”, Matt said quietly. “And that wasn’t what I was about to say. But Herman, it is her body. You can’t force her to give birth because you or I don’t like that other option available.”

Herman’s frigid stance loosened. “Sorry, but she is a right type to get racial hygiene speeches insisted upon her. We haven’t conversed what rules you do follow and what not.”

Meaning his violent vigilantism or homosexual acts were certainly frowned upon in Matt’s church. Matt didn’t know what he liked about those other monikers Herman’s tone suggested. When Matt was a child, his family had been poor. His father, however, was a keen supporter of the education, and as a lawyer Matt could now gain lots of money if he wasn’t such a wishy-washy do-gooder, as Foggy called them. He hadn’t minded to have no luxuries, but there were times he hoped to be a little wealthier and this was one of those moments. Then he could have better solutions to Herman’s actual problems.

“Sis will need rehab, or the baby will born with the FAS disorder. Maybe it is too late. She has been drinking this whole time, and the fetus can be some three months old already. She wouldn’t notice her moonies have stopped coming.”

“Perhaps you are right, but we have to try nevertheless.” Again that _we_. Matt was watching himself from the space and wondering what the hell he was doing. He had known the guy next to him like two weeks. “Herman, it will be alright. If Stark is not going to pay, I can help you. I have some savings.”

“Don’t be an idiot”, Herman hissed. “A baby, Matt! It will need food, clothes, medical, and somebody to look after it 24/7. I am a fucking intern! Even if the rehab is a success, I know Heathy, she will be less than useless. The best I can hope from her is she would stay sober until she has given birth.”

“Perhaps giving the baby for adoption would be the best solution.”

“Fuck!”

 _We_ didn’t like that idea either. Matt wondered what had brought that thought up. He had never considered himself a family man.


	23. Tony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony starts to see Peter’s point of view, but when has his guileful son settled for anything less than perfect execution of his plans.

There had been Pepper. Lots of times. Then one or other from their team had visited his workshop. Or tried. They stood for awhile in front of his door and then left when Tony didn’t appreciate their efforts. There had been hails and pleads which soon turned into threats when days went by and Tony didn’t react in a way they wanted. He took his meals in when his scans showed there was nobody lurking in the shadows and he drank coffee and occasional bottle of water, sending his vitals and medicals every noon to their shared network. His nearest and dearest couldn’t hammer themselves into his workshop under the cover of being worried about his well-being. Tony was _fine_. Or he thought he was. _Yes, he was._ Peter had no reason to snort as he stated his condition aloud.

Fifteen days, seventeen hours and twenty-three minutes. That long had his self-imposed exile lasted. Tony would have gladly been isolated at least a month, but of course his son wouldn’t allow his old man his pleasures. Pete walked through his security and lock down procedure like he was entering a tree house. He had cupcakes with him which was adding insult to injury.

Pete was expecting him to sulk and rage, so a controversial action was the best defense. Why not to play it supercool?

“You didn’t need any actual glasses”, Tony said. “Your medical showed your eyesight has improved beyond normal. How come you were able to stand and walk your shoulders stooped so much? It looks now like you had gained two inches overnight. Who are you and what have you done to my tiny Peter?”

If Peter was surprised about Tony’s chosen path, he didn’t show it overly much.

“I got that same speech from the others after I dumped my Clark Kent disguise.”

“That guy from the accounts? I sometimes wonder if his shoes are two size too big for him. It shouldn’t be possible for a guy to stumble over his own feet so often.”

“Dad. Take a cupcake.”

Tony took. He slumped down on his ratty couch and munched the treat. Peter took a chocolate one and sit besides him with his graceful spidery style. He wasn’t rubbing Tony’s nose into anything. Unlike Tony himself, Peter wasn’t petty like that. Then Tony realized a deep squat and hanging on the edge of his seat had to be a favorite style his son sat himself, and now he could finally do it openly, nobody wondering his unearthly power and balance.

“I was so scared I will screw up with you. Hurt you like Howard hurt me. And I did.” Tony raised up his cupcake-free hand, asking Pete to hold the counterargument which Tony saw was coming. “I have. I really have. I am doing it right now. Instead of being proud and glad about my magnificent boy, I sit in my cave sulking like an idiotic old troll. I am far from a perfection as a father, but I hoped I was good enough. At least a little while.”

Tony was crying now. Pete came closer and surrounded his upper body with those amazing arms which could rush every bone in Tony’s body. But the touch was like always, not careful, but not hurtful either, and the engineer in Tony wondered the logistics of the matter.

“I was too young”, Pete was saying. “I realize that now. In my Stark hubris I thought I was smart enough and strong enough, but it was a stupid decision to do everything alone, and my poor Gwen payed the price.”

“No, that is not true.” Tony pushed his boy to the arms length to see his face. Peter’s cheeks were moist also, which made Tony realize the seriousness of the situation. Peter was like his late mother, not an overly emotional person. “Pete, it was a brave decision. I just hoped you didn’t have to carry some of its consequences alone. I could have been with you better if I had known what extra burden you were shouldering.”

“Dad, are were really alright?”

“Of course, Pete.”

Tony would have stayed in a hug for a next half an hour, but this son had other ideas. Pete jumped up and slapped his palm together with glee. “Great! Let’s talk about you and Steve.”

“Steve and I”, Tony stammered as a wave of emotion shot through him. Steve was gone. The others had told him he had all but quit the Avengers, their tones implying the situation was Tony’s fault. They had gotten that one right on the nose. “Steve… He is doing fine.”

“And how do you know? When you have been here and Steve is out there.”

How soon his son found his infuriating streak again!

“You didn’t speak with him. You snooped around with your tech when the poor old sod was careless and talked with others in the range of your spying devices. Have you bugged his new apartment? Flying with a drone over his art academy grounds?”

What? _Noooo_. Tony wouldn’t do something like that. He was not a crazy stalker. Perhaps he was a little scared how Steve would do in a big bad world over there so he took a tiny peak now and then, but otherwise, nothing. Nope. Not a thing.

“Are you jealous? You should be. There he is, among tons of same minded, young, interesting guys. You had him, but you did all in your power to push him away.”

“What are you talking about. We were not…”

“You were shagging like rabbits.”

What! Sam Tony didn’t mind, he was Steve’s close friend and prone to his secrets. But to tell things like that to Peter.

“For… Dad!” Pete’s voice had gained the same impatient tone Tony used when talking to the people with slow understanding. “Everybody knows! We have known from the beginning. Steve is not exactly discreet, you know. How could anyone miss those starry-eyed looks he shoots your way? And about the evidence… I bet our security cams have tons of pictures of you two going for it. That one time when I came home late and… Gee, I needed some bleach into my eyeballs! A son is not supposed to see how his dad is banged against the corridor wall by Captain America! The other way around would have been scientifically interesting, though, you having no superpowers, so you holding that mountain of patriotic muscle in the air the way Cap was doing you would have needed a careful technique.”

“Alright, alright! I don’t need a flow chart about it… Jeez! What you… pictures! Please, don’t show me any pictures. And what is that doing...”

“Yes, that’s the exact problem, dad. I wonder if either of you know what the hell you are doing. I hope you are starting to realize Steve doesn’t want to be your friend.”

“I know that! He is upset about me hitting him.”

“No, dad. Obviously you don’t know. Or want to know. Steve doesn’t want to be your friend, because he wants to be your fiance.”

What! Had that boy got too many hits on his head? Tony started laughing. For his surprise Pete didn’t share his mirth.

“Classy, dad.” Peter huffed like a mule with a stuffy nose. “If you were like this with him no wonder he run to the hills. I wouldn’t have shown you such a patience.”

“Pete, my boy. You have understood it all wrong. Steve doesn’t… he couldn’t…”

_Steve can’t_ _want_ _me._ Tony didn’t say it aloud, it was too heart breaking.

“Why not?”

Yes, Tony. Why not. Spell it out to your dear boy how virile, beautiful, and goodhearted men didn’t pine after mean, old tarts like Tony.

“So could it be possible you want him too? Perhaps enough you could do relationships his way? Steve is totally one man guy, you know. Why is it so impossible to think Steve wants to belong to our family? You didn’t see his face when he got those stupid cufflinks. Dad, he thought you were giving him a ring.”

Tony remember the occasion. It had been last Christmas. The Avengers were sharing gifts and then Steve had mysteriously disappeared for a while. When he had come back to the party, he had blamed a headache. Had Steve really thought Tony was going to propose?

“Dad, he sat on his bed and just stared that open box like a kid whose ice cream dropped onto the ground.”

“Maybe he didn’t like the model. It was from one of my young talents, very modern. If I had given him… or I should have just left some money on his nightstand he could have used himself… no, that came out wrong. But if I...”

“Dad! It is not about the gifts.”

“I realize.” Tony sighed, his spirit downing as he remembered the sight in his garage after their fallout. “Do you know what he did? He left his bike! He loves that bike more than anything. How much he must hate me!”

Tony was too restless to sit down, but loping around was difficult when Peter got stepping on his way. “Dad, would you hold down a minute! Don’t you realize, the Harley was a gift from you. A super expensive gift. Steve accepted it because he thought you were together. He thought you will someday buy him a ring. But you didn’t. You were not engaged and therefore he gave all the things you bought for him back.”

“Yes, as I said. He hates…”

“DAD! He can’t keep any gifts, if you are not together. If you had been buying something reasonable like chocolate or theater tickets, then yes, he wouldn’t have to return them, but you used thousands of dollars to buy him suits and a watch and a vintage motorcycle. If he keeps them it will smear his reputation. And yours too. Do you want to be his sugar daddy? Or him to feel like a gold-digging hussy?”

“What! No! Steve wouldn’t…”

He does. He did, as Tony saw with his own eyes, when he rushed to the elevator and down the corridor to Steve’s old room. It was mostly like it had been, Steve hadn’t taken with him anything more than those things which he had bought with his own money. Or was given by somebody else than a vile witch who was Tony Stark. Or that had been Tony’s thought, but now when he searched Steve’s bookshelves he found all the books he had given to Steve gone.

“He took them with him.” Tony was in awe. “I bought him a few… some paperbacks when we were in the old book shop. He insisted I write on them they are from me, you know, some perky note… he took them!”

“Before your self-doubt settles in again”, Peter interrupted. “I bet they were cheap enough he could have been able to buy them himself?”

“Yes… I think… Yes!”

Tony had to sit down on Steve’s bed to ponder the consequences of this revelation. “Dad, are you coming to see possibilities? Or do I have to spell them to you?”

“Pete, it doesn’t matter.” Tony had hidden his face into his hands, being not able to look at Pete, in fear he would have started crying again. “I am two years until a round figure I don’t want to think about. I am just a stale old playboy. Steve? He could be twenty five, twenty seven, max. You want a big brother figure? That how he sees himself, you know. He sees himself as your big brother, which means he could be my son, and here we are… Yes, there is that thing. I found a gray hair.”

There was a warm palm on his shoulder now. The bed moved as Peter crouched down next to him. “That must have been some fifteen years ago, dad. You have a good hairdresser but he leaked your color brand to the gossip columns ages ago.”

“Yes, that. And my… my sex tapes. Media will have a field day. They will butcher Steve if we… Everybody will pity him and laugh at him...”

“Steve has fought in the harder battles. You know how he hates bullies. Social media commentators in a snit have been beneath his attention since he came out of the closet. After a few weeks you will be yesterday’s news anyway.”

Look at that. With a few chosen words his son was wiping all his main worries away. Paving a yellow brick road to home, and he didn’t even have his ruby slippers.

“But I screwed up. What if Steve will not forgive me?”

Peter jumped up. “We are Starks! Stark men are made of iron, not of some sniveling excuses.”

Tony let out a yelp watching how Peter grabbed a hold of his groin.

“Son, never do that gesture in my line of sight!”

“You are right”, Peter stated, letting go from the front of his jeans. “That was awkward.”

“Let’s hug instead.”

“Yes. Love you, dad.”

“Love you more, Pete”, Tony whispered, circling Pete with his arms and burying his nose in his neck. When had his tiny boy become so awful tall?

“Alright!” And then Pete was ready to bolt again. “Shower and change first. Then go and get your man.”

“About our men...”

“No, dad”, Peter warned. “We are not talking about Wade. One heavy lifting at time.”


End file.
